Missing Collisions
by elleisforlovee
Summary: Several missing moments drabbles to accompany my fanfiction, Beautiful Collisions.
1. Abstinence in Cape Cod

*****IF YOU HAVE NOT YET READ _BEAUTIFUL COLLISIONS_ I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU DO SO BEFORE READING THIS. THESE DRABBLES CONTAIN SPOILERS. **

**Author's Note****:** This started as a whim on Tumblr. Often I see images and immediately I connect them with Sybil and Tom. I posted the first one and was surprised at how much support they received. From then on I was less shy about sharing these "missing moments" with all of you. Especially as the Sybil and Tom grow up and their lives become more complicated, it's important for me to remind myself where they started out: two best friends in a deeply emotional and intimate relationship, incapable of admitting their feelings for one another. Some of these drabbles will reference specific moments in BC. Others are just glimpses at moments I think are cute, or sexy, or angsty, or insightful. That being said, they do not go in order. No worries though, if you've read BC, you should be able to see exactly where they fit.

Enjoy! :]

* * *

"Tom! You know the rules!"

He did know the rules, ones she had set forth and he adhered to if only because they somehow kept her closer than if he'd denied them altogether. But he also adored the way she fought a smile every time he was this close, breathing down her neck, begging for her to want him back.

The bay, as usual, was quiet. When he was still reading his book and Sybil had retreated into the water to cool off, two runners passed by, but that was nearly an hour ago and since then the water seemed to calm down, and the sun settled as well: a warning that nightfall was near and they should really get back to the house.

"I'm serious, Tom," Sybil tried again as she saw her best friend approach her. "Not here." Then, she thought of a different tactic. "I'm wet."

He hovered above her now with his arms straddling her body. Instinctively the pads of her fingertips found the back of his head, caressing the skin of his neck as she licked her lips near his ear. "I bet you are," he whispered, his voice husky only for a moment before his mouth leaned in to hers.

That was when Sybil pushed him away, her feet also moving, making a strategic trajectory toward his groin causing him to topple back.

"Fuck, Syb! Seriously?"

Sybil bit her lip and shrugged, a satisfied look still on her face. "I told you, not here. I'm not fucking you on this beach. People could see."

"Nobody's around," he reminded.

"Well, I'm not fucking you tonight either, got it? I told you, that was the one deal. Not here, alright? It's disrespectful."

"You never think it's disrespectful when we're home. Actually," Tom said, leaning back into her, "you prefer it. In fact, the other day you said you wanted your dad to hear us—"

"Now, you're being cruel."

Tom raised his hands in surrender. "Your words, not mine."

Sybil stood up and began grabbing for the blanket they were both sitting on. "What are you doing?" Tom asked.

"Rule number 2. What I say to you when we hook up, stays in the bedroom." Tom began to laugh. "What's so funny?" she spat.

"The bedroom?" He questioned. "What about the kitchen, the shower, the garage, my car, the library—"

"Ughhh!" Sybil huffed out, now hitting him with her towel. "You're being fresh today, Tom Branson."

He flashed her a smile and she couldn't help but to smirk. "And you're beautiful, Sybil Crawley."

Sybil sighed. "I'm going to wash up before dinner. Are you coming or not?"

Tom leaned back on his elbows and stared out at the bay. Behind him, Sybil was stationary, waiting for an answer. He looked to her, his eyes kissing her skin much in the same way the sun had previously done. "Is that an invitation?"

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "I guess you'll have to see."

They raced back to the beach house, laughing and teasing one another the entire way. Downstairs, Martha and Anna were busy preparing dinner, giving both teenagers plenty of time to disappear upstairs by themselves. With the grill on out back and a bottle of wine already opened, neither adult made the connection between the sound of a single shower head running, and the two very wet-haired teenagers that joined them at the dinner table later that night.

It was the first and last time Sybil allowed Tom to break their Cape Cod abstinence rule.

* * *

x. Elle


	2. High

Sybil's bedroom was a mess. Her bed, in particular, was almost unrecognizable, with the covers pushed to the very edge, leaving just the fitted sheet for her and Tom to spread out upon while they read over old notes, or more likely, passed the time naked, laughing, and pressed into one another. Though it always remained in a constant state of disarray, it seemed that with their GSCE's approaching, all hope of semblance was officially forgotten, at least for the next two weeks while both teenagers studied.

On this Friday night in particular, Sybil forfeited ballet and came home right after school with Tom. Sneakers were kicked off at the bottom of the steps and then carried upstairs along with their rucksacks. Another drop-off occurred when finally inside Sybil's room, where the lights were switched on, casting out the darkness that had settled in during the day. Sybil immediately walked to the closet where she hid behind the door momentarily to slip into something much more comfortable and Tom headed for the bed.

"Why don't we take a break?" Tom suggested, now laying back atop Sybil's mattress. "If I have to look at my history textbook for even a minute longer, I'm going to kill myself."

Sybil looked at him in amusement and shrugged, her feet crossing over one another as she leaned into the archway separating her bedroom from the en suite bath. "I just need a few more hours."

"Why?" Tom complained. "You and I both know you're not going to Cambridge. Just admit it and move on."

"I am going to Cambridge," Sybil stated simply as if also trying to convince herself. "Where else would I go?"

Tom sat up quickly but dropped his head down as if to excuse what she was saying. "C'mon, take a night off with me, please? Let's go for a walk or watch a movie or..." Tom's eyes blinked as he watched Sybil, now clad in just one of his old jumpers and a pair of black knickers, crawling toward him to straddle his lap and drape her arms around his neck.

"Study with me for a bit and then we can have some fun, kay?" She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then his neck, where her kisses were futile as Tom was already at her mercy.

"You're right though," she whispered between open-mouth kisses left upon his Adam's apple. "You're so tense. You need to relax."

Tom shook his head and carefully worked to displace Sybil from his lap. She didn't look upset, just somewhat defeated, but she remained atop the covers as Tom stood up, going to grab for his bag and hers. The latter item was thrown her way and she caught it, an appreciative smile spread across her face before she dropped her head down to rifle through the pack.

"Art History or English?" Sybil inquired, staring at the textbooks her backpack hid away.

By now Tom was already seated up against Sybil's headboard, lost on his phone with no intent of opening his notes. The mere sight of him so at ease made Sybil's blood boil as she thought of the truth of it all: he didn't have to study to excel. He'd be fine without looking over his notes or creating study guides while her grades required much more effort. Yet at the very same time, it was her who was always pushing him, worried that despite it all he'd somehow fail, thus becoming unworthy, making all of this just that much more difficult.

"Tom?" she tried again. "Pick one."

"English," he sighed.

Sybil looked back to Tom and dramatically threw her hands down. "What's wrong now?"

"I told you," he said without hesitation, "I don't want to study."

"Then go in your room and leave me to it. You don't have to be in here," she reminded.

Tom looked to her and studied her face. In particular, his eyes latched on to the way her lips always looked so puffed and chapped, and how it was only he who knew the truth: they were soft and perfect and altogether well suited for her face. Her eyes, steel grey, looked blue in this light and he found himself blinking as if the change in his own vision would color hers differently.

"Want to get high?"

Sybil blinked and then looked around, almost as if she was hoping to find a strand of evidence to support where such a biting question had come for. "What?"

"You told me you would."

"And I meant after we both passed these exams. Besides, is that stuff even still good?"

The stuff she was referring to was the marijuana she and Tom purchased from a classmate nearly a month ago. What once existed as a task on a checklist in their minds of things to be completed before they both headed out into the real world somehow turned to a dare, with Sybil finally asking Jonathan Ashford if he could help them out. She pouted and acted innocently, granting them nearly a full gram of weed and a pack of rolling papers all for free. When Sybil returned home with both items, Tom nearly laughed, wondering what it was that she offered in return. She shrugged and continued her innocent act with him; Tom was sure Jonathan was expecting something for the favor but the way in which Sybil writhed beneath him later that night told them both it was unlikely to ever happen.

Tom shrugged and walked to the top drawer of her dresser to retrieve the paper bag. As he walked back to the bed, he dumped out all the contents, revealing not only the pack of papers and the dime bag, but also a lighter the two had only used on one other occasion.

Thinking of that time, Sybil scoffed. "Yeah, fags were a bloody failure, let's try this, Tom!"

Tom rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the paraphernalia on the bed. "C'mon, Syb."

She sighed and moved closer to him. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll smoke _one_ joint with you and then I'm studying."

"High?" Tom guffawed. "You're going to study high?"

"Don't sass me, Tom. I will do as I please. Now c'mon," she said, turning into him so that she was sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. "Let's see what you've got."

He looked to her and searched her features for an elaboration. None came but he made the decision that he rather liked the way her hair was pulled back right now, making it so that her fringe and the subsequent wavy tresses along her hairline fell out of their loose bun. Just last night he told her how beautiful (or perhaps it was another, less meaningful word that he used) she looked with her hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her head. She ignored his comments just like she always did, while at the same time exhaling slowly, treasuring the words he shared, secretly wishing he'd give them to her again.

"You want me to roll?"

Sybil shrugged. "You're the one with the ideas around here, Tom. I'm merely tagging along for the ride..."

Tom glared at her causing her to laugh. As he did so, he moved so he was sitting across from her, his legs also crossed, causing their knobby knees to just barely touch. "Hand me your English text."

Sybil obliged, reaching across the bed to where her rucksack laid open, spilling The Complete Works of William Shakespeare out onto the bed. "Here," she offered.

Tom took the text and laid it in his lap. All the while, Sybil watched, loving that she now had something else for his hands to do that she could adore. From the pack of papers, Tom pulled out a sleeve and set the folded sheet down on the book. Then, he grabbed for the dime bag and began to tap at the side, causing little shreds of the herb to fall down into the crease of the paper.

Sybil exhaled. "You sure you've never done this before?"

"Yes," Tom said, now looking up at her. "Me and all of my friends do this daily."

Sybil looked away, her lips forming into a small pout as she realized what it was Tom was getting at. No, he had never done this before. Everything the two of them ever did for the first time, was always together. Once, it meant taking the training wheels off their bicycles, and somehow turned into another matter completely with just over a year ago, the two of them finally making love. If Tom thought about it too long as Sybil surely was now, it made him sad. There was plenty of time for him to make other friends, but he never wanted to. His world began and ended with her, and for as tense as they both had been lately, he never wanted or needed much else. In fact, after his mother passed, he found he only wanted and needed Sybil more.

"Seriously though, do you know what you're doing?"

Tom raised the joint up to his lips, poking his tongue out to wet the edge before completing the roll. All Sybil could do was watch and marvel, her mouth watering at the sight of his own tongue being so delicate.

Holding the rolled joint in his hand, Tom inspected his work then looked back to Sybil, passing her the freshly rolled fag. "I've seen a movie or two."

"Oooh!" Sybil tried, looking to Tom now with an animated expression. "We're almost done with the first season of Breaking Bad. If this is a sucess want to try meth next? I saw it on television once…"

This time it was Tom's eyes that widened. He even went as far to grab for a pillow from near the headboard and throw it at her.

"Hey!" she deflected. "Precious merchandise," she commented, holding the joint in her hand. Tom could only smile and he continued to do so even as the textbook was put on the floor, the bag and subsequent grounds still littering the cover.

Tom held up the lighter. "You want the first hit?"

Sybil looked at the stick as if she was looking down the barrel of a gun. "Is it stronger?"

"For fuck's sake, Syb! I don't know. I'll do it if you want."

Sybil shrugged and straightened out her posture, an action that had Tom silently laughing. "I got this," she said confidently. "Light it for me?" Sybil then placed the joint between her lips and inhaled. As she did so, Tom flicked at the lighter, causing a flame to appear and then catch, burning the paper to white smoke.

Just like they had once done with a cigarette, Sybil inhaled deeply and held the smoke now filling her throat and lungs. Tom nodded, somehow proud of her instinct, before she began to cough, moving a fist up to her mouth in comfort as she passed the joint back to Tom. "Bloody hell that tastes like shit."

Tom shook his head, having already inhaled at the stick himself. Sybil, still a bit in shock, watched him as he later exhaled, showing no sign of distress or distaste as she had done. "It burns," he agreed passing it back to her.

"Mine didn't burn," Sybil said quickly. "Am I doing it right?" And then: "Can you feel anything? Your eyes are a bit red…"

Tom shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. It's not like heroin. I don't think it's instant."

"Right, good thing we do heroin all the time so we can compare the two," Sybil deadpanned before taking another hit.

"Hold it for longer," Tom tried, coaching her through this next puff. Sybil's eyes widened as if to ask if this was long enough and Tom shook his head. "Can you feel it fill your lungs?"

Sybil breathed out and shrugged as well. "I don't know," she giggled. Suddenly, she had the urge to lay back and she did. She felt fine, she thought, certainly not much different than she had before. When Tom joined her, he passed the joint back again, only after tapping off the ashes into the glass of water on the nightstand the two had shared the night before.

"Do we just smoke the entire thing?"

Tom rolled his head against the pillow and looked to Sybil. "Sure, why not?"

Another hit and Sybil passed the joint back to Tom. "I'm done. You can finish it."

Tom reached up to rub at his eyes, the joint sticking out between his fingers as he did so. Around them, smoke was rising, but the pungent smell went unnoticed between the two occupants of the room, even after the joint was dropped into the cup of water, causing the water to become murky as the paper unfurled and the heat within was oppressed beneath the water.

"Do you think sex is better high?" Sybil waited for the answer but focused instead on the sound of her voice. It seemed to echo and altogether, it sounded much deeper than usual, or at least much more raspy. "Does my voice sound different?"

Tom raised an eyebrow to look at Sybil. Her eyes were half-lidded and heavy, like they usually were when she was first waking up, or after a long session crying, her head pressed tightly to his chest as she sobbed. At once he dropped his head back and let out a loud laugh. "Want to give it a try?"

Sybil giggled, reaching up to cover her mouth. The moment slowed down and she was almost positive it took far too long to drop her hand back down to her side. "Later," she promised before laughing again.

Neither could remember the conversation that surely followed, but some words must have been exchanged, because Sybil was pantless, riding Tom's back as the two clumsily made their way downstairs and toward the kitchen. A task that would usually take them a few moments seemed to last forever and when they finally made it to the pantry, Sybil was laughing so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Here," Tom offered giving her a carton of ice cream. He walked to the refrigerator and grabbed for a bottle of water. Immediately, he chugged the liquid, before passing the remaining half to Sybil.

"Oh, thank god," she exclaimed, graciously taking the bottle and setting it right next to her body on the counter. "You're thirsty, right?" Tom nodded. "Me too," she agreed before grabbing for the bottle again and slowly taking small sips, swallowing, then continuing the process. Meanwhile, the carton of ice cream remained in her lap, melting with each passing moment. Soon enough, it began to leak out the side of the carton, coating Sybil's upper thigh with a puddle of cream.

"Fuck," she let out. Tom, still laughing, slowly moved to lick at her leg, continuing to lap at her smooth skin even when the creamy liquid was long gone. When he returned, he smiled and the two laughed again, sharing a sloppy kiss.

Hugging her best friend from the front, she smacked his ass and demanded that he bring her upstairs. "Hold these," she also insisted, handing Tom a box of cereal.

Back in her room she went to jump on her bed but Tom beat her to it, finally leaving them both to lay back and stare at the ceiling. A minute passed, then several more. Sybil crawled on top of Tom and kissed his cheek before nestling her head upon his shoulder.

"Hey," she began, "I love you, okay?"

Tom blinked and nodded. "Shut the fuck up."

Again, Sybil was laughing. His exclamation, no matter how rude, had her pressing her lips sloppily to his neck before once again setting her head down to close her eyes. "I'm so sleepy. Wake me up in a bit, mmmkay? I need to study."

Tom laughed too. "Yeah, okay, Syb."

He never did wake her up. The night didn't officially end until the two awoke the next morning, realizing then as the sun poured in through the curtains what sober stability truly was. They didn't speak of how ridiculous they surely had been, and in part, they only remembered a bit of it. The way Sybil was in just her underclothes told them both that perhaps a lot more had happened after they drifted off, but Tom was still in his briefs, causing Sybil to laugh, conscious this time of what it was that was so funny; it was unlikely, even if they had made love, that either would have lasted that long.

When they both finally pushed out of bed to ready themselves for the day, Tom disposed of the contents still covering Sybil's english textbook. He blew at the cover before presenting the text to Sybil almost as clean as it originally had been: a promise to never speak of the night again.

"Hey," Tom tried, causing Sybil, her cheeks painted red in embarrassment, to finally look to him. "I love you," he teased.

Sybil blushed and threw a pillow at her best friend's face. "Shut the fuck up."

* * *

x. Elle


	3. The First Scare

**Note:** In chapter 2 of Beautiful Collisions, when we see Sybil and Tom attend a family dinner, Cora mentions that a family friend saw Sybil in town with a boy. This is also around the same time that I hinted at Sybil and Tom having their pregnancy scare. This drabble explores both of those themes.

* * *

"Hurry up, will you? The pharmacy closes in ten minutes!"

Since starting a correspondence with Hunter Allen, Tom was constantly on his cell phone. It was something that annoyed Sybil, but that she'd never admit to him. If anything, she saw it as a challenge. If he was distracted, as he often was, it was her duty to lure him away from the cellular device, forcing his attention to be focused solely on her.

Currently, he was standing near a lamp post, tapping at his iPhone causing the illuminated screen to whitewash his face with its contrast to the dimming night sky. He looked to Sybil and smiled, and when she smiled back, he ran at her, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up into the air, her knees bending in resistance.

"Tom Branson, put me down! C'mon," she pleaded. "Stop stalling."

"You're not pregnant, Syb," he said, seriously and with eyes that worked just as hard to convince her.

Sybil sighed. "Well I want to make sure. And you promised you'd come along and then I had to wait for you to get out of work-"

"At which point you weren't ready," Tom reminded causing Sybil to slyly smile as she wound up her fist and punched his shoulder.

They were at the pharmacy now, and as Sybil stepped toward the door, Tom opened it, and the two walked inside to the tune of the bell above their heads ringing. The elderly woman behind the desk owned the pharmacy with her husband, and she knew Sybil and Tom, not just because they lived at Downton, but because this pharmacy used to occupy much of their time when they were younger. Though sparse in stock, it had the best grocery aisle, with plenty of ice cream bars and beverages to choose from when Sybil and Tom would bike through town on a humid summer day.

"Hi Annette," Sybil called, adding with it a wave similar to the one Tom threw the woman's way. A similar greeting was shared with the two teenagers, allowing them both to continuing walking to the back of the store, Tom with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his zip-up and Sybil, with slow feet, causing Tom to look over his shoulder before smacking her rear end.

"Tom!" Sybil snapped. "This isn't funny."

"It's pretty funny," he retorted. "How are we doing this anyway?"

Sybil looked to him, her eyes squinted as she did her best to decipher what he was getting at. "Oh," she breathed out. "She won't even notice."

"And if she does?"

"And if she does, she's the only Jewish woman in this town. She's widowed and tired and altogether heartbroken since Bernie passed. The last thing she wants to do is reveal to the town that the Earl of Grantham's daughter might be knocked up."

Tom stepped into Sybil. Though he was put off by what she had just said, his hands sought her out, resting comfortably on each hip so that he could guide her toward him. "Don't say knocked up. You're not knocked up."

Sybil looked away, giving Tom room to kiss her neck in an attempt to calm her down. "Is it me? Is that the scary part?"

Sybil shook her head. "No. What are you getting at? We're eighteen, Tom. I don't want a baby and neither do you. This has nothing to do with us."

Something Sybil said made him smile, but at the same time, he released her body from his grasp and stepped back. "Fine," he breathed out. "You're right, let's just get this over with."

At the end of the aisle the two turned, coming face to face with a small section of various items including condoms, lubricant, and their own desired grocery: a quick-response pregnancy test. Sybil nearly laughed remembering the controversy that occurred when the Blatt's first instituted this aisle.

Tom grabbed for the only option, a small, lightweight box with a picture of the testing stick on the cover. "We good?"

Sybil laughed. "Give it to me." She turned the box over to glance at the instructions. "It's expired," she exhaled.

It was Tom's turn to laugh as he grabbed the box back. Just as she had done, he glanced at the back. "Look at this woman. She's mocking us," he commented, referring to the picture of the woman on the back of the cover who wore an obnoxiously bright smile to match her outdated and loud jumper.

Sybil leaned in to Tom to look, but unlike him, did not smile. "Yeah, because nobody in this town has any fun."

"No, they do, they just have married fun."

"For fuck's sake..." Sybil breathed out, causing her fringe to blow upward. "C'mon, poor Annette probably wants to lock up. Oh!" She let out, stopping herself. "Let's get Max some of those taffy chews he likes."

Tom smiled and once again, tapped Sybil's bum. "Go up to the counter, I'll meet you there."

With much more purpose, Sybil began walking toward the front of the store. She was stopped though, her name ringing through the air, calling her over. "Is that Lady Sybil, I see?"

Sybil smiled and walked toward the red-headed woman. Mrs. Eaton was an old friend of the family, and her son and Mary dated for some time in high school. She owned one of the largest pieces of property in town and continued to bother Robert about selling her more after the death of her husband the previous year. "You're out awfully late on a school night."

Sybil shrugged, using the naturally looking posture to hide the pregnancy test behind her back. "I could say the same for you."

"Oh, honey, I don't work anymore. Your mother and I actually have a lunch date tomorrow. But things are well, right? You're attending Cambridge in the fall I hear..."

Again, Sybil politely smiled. "We'll see," she sing-songed.

"I'll let you go. But do you want a ride back? There's no sense in you walking alone in the dark..."

"Oh, no, I'm actually with someone, but thank you."

"Oh, really? Is it Tommy Branson?"

Quickly, Sybil shook her head. On the other side of the aisle she was standing in with Mrs. Eaton, she could hear Tom patiently waiting for their conversation to end so he could present her with the bag of candy and the two could purchase their things and leave. "No, just a friend," Sybil said, as if to state that it couldn't be Tom because he was certainly much more than a friend - a fact she couldn't yet admit to herself, much less say aloud.

"Alright deary, well take care."

"You too," she called over her shoulder. Sybil began walking away, but didn't head straight for the front counter. Instead, she detoured into the neck aisle, where Tom was waiting, a smirk playing its way across his features. "Shut up," she commented.

"Did I say anything?"

"No, but you wanted to. Here," Sybil sighed, handing him the pregnancy test. "Check out and make sure you ask Annette if she needs any help around here. I'll pay you back later."

"And if she takes me up on the offer for help?"

Sybil sighed. "She won't. But I imagine it's nice for her to know the town cares."

With Sybil gone, Tom headed for the front counter. Annette didn't pay any mind to what he purchased, but she gave him her usual smile, wishing him a nice evening and asking that he say hello to Robert and Cora for her. He nodded, and waved to the woman before heading outside.

The streetlamps still lined the road, casting the village into some sort of orange haze. Above, the moon hung steadily, bright and bold, but altogether unchanging. Tom walked to Sybil and handed her her groceries and then swiftly began walking back toward the house.

"Tom?" Sybil called out, her voice laced with confusion. He didn't stop, but kept on walking. Seeing this, Sybil ran to catch up to him. "What's going on? Did she say something?"

"No, Sybil, she didn't. Listen, I'm not saying this is your fault. Last time I checked, when we fuck, we're both there. And no, I'm not great about wearing a condom. And you're not great about making me put one on. In fact," he stated enthusiastically. "A lot of times you tell me not to because you like the way it feels when-"

"Okay, you know what, I'm sorry, alright? I saw Mrs. Eaton and I panicked."

"So better to start the rumor of the poor orphaned kid knocking some girl up than to be that girl, right?"

"Tom, stop it. You know it's not like that."

"But isn't it?"

"Will you please stop walking so we can discuss this!?"

With his hands still in his pockets, Tom obliged. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just a bit freaked out."

"Well it freaks me out too. But we made this decision and the fact that it's only now that this is becoming an issue is pretty damn remarkable, don't you think?"

Sybil looked away, her eyes trained on a puddle near the sewer where tiny droplets of water began to splash down and ripple, a warning of the fast approaching rainfall. "Do you want to stop this? Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't know what I'm saying!" Tom said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I want you to stop making me feel guilty for it. Not even this pregnancy scare. All of it. That wasn't how this started and that's not how it should be."

"You're right," Sybil nodded, stepping into Tom to pull up the hood on his zip-up, covering his head from the already steady downfall of rain. As she moved toward him, the toes of her shoes stepped upon his, using his own height as leverage to bring herself up onto his level. It was in this moment, her weight fully resting upon him, that he noticed the crown of her head, already damp from the rain. Sybil's cardigan lacked a hood, and he contemplated for a moment giving her his own, if he wasn't still so on edge, and if she wasn't this close to him, her glance darting back and forth between his lips and his eyes. "If it means anything to you," Sybil exhaled, "I don't want this to stop."

Slowly, Tom nodded in agreement. "Me neither."

Without his permission, Sybil leaned up to him and kissed him on the cheek but was soon corrected in her actions as he gripped her chin with his thumb and pulled her mouth toward his own. Together, they breathed in, both seemingly shocked by a form of intimacy they'd shared with one another for almost three years. Pulling away, Sybil looked over her shoulder to where Mrs. Eaton was just now pulling out of her parking spot. "You shouldn't kiss me like that," she warned.

Tom nodded. "I know," he whispered back. But he didn't. And he wondered if she would have said the same thing had someone not seem them.

* * *

x. Elle


	4. First Kiss

**A/N:** I posted a photo of a young girl and boy leaning in to kiss and it prompted magfreak to ask if Sybil and Tom were each other's first kiss. My response was: OF COURSE! I mean, who else would it be for either one of them? So here's my take on that moment. It's also nice to note Sybil's views on love before the incident with Robert occurred.

* * *

The minutes passed much more slowly in the summer - Sybil was sure of it. At thirteen, she understood this now. The summer was time where lazy Sundays such as this one were afforded to her and her best friend. Where the sun took a break as the two hid beneath a shady elm tree in the local park, their backs smothering the grass below as they squinted up, searching for shapes in the clouds.

"What do you think it's like?"

"What's like?"

"Being in love," Sybil explained, a small bit of agitation lacing her words, as if she was irritated by Tom not knowing exactly what she was talking about for once.

Tom shrugged. "I dunno."

Sybil rolled her head against the earth so she had a better view of him. "Don't you wonder?"

"Not really," Tom offered. And then: "Do you?"

Sybil nodded. "All the time. I mean, you're going to be with the person forever. Don't you ever think that they're just out there somewhere waiting for you to find them?"

"No."

Sybil sighed and sat up. "So what? You're not worried?"

In challenge, and now curious about what she was saying, Tom joined her in sitting up. "What do you mean? Why would I be worried?"

"Because when you finally meet the girl of your dreams," Sybil explained, "you need to be prepared. What if you say the wrong thing or act the wrong way? What if you mess it all up?"

"Isn't the person you love supposed to forgive you for those things?"

"Um," Sybil began to think. "I don't know. Maybe. But they won't forgive everything."

"Like what?" Tom inquired, growing less and less interested in what she was saying by the sentence.

"Like kissing. That's a big one. Mary and Matthew do that one a lot. And my mum and dad do it sometimes too."

Tom chuckled. "I don't think that's a good indicator of loving someone."

"Well it's not everything," Sybil said dramatically, carrying the word out. "But I think it matters. If a girl goes to kiss you, you have to kiss her back."

"What if I don't like her?"

"Well, why is she kissing you in the first place? Why are you even hanging out with her?" Sybil asked, sounding suddenly very upset by the prospect of anyone unworthy gaining time alone with her best friend. In that moment, fleetingly, she wondered if he ever grew angry contemplating the same thing.

"I don't know," Tom shrugged again, this time throwing up his hands to show his annoyance. "What's with the questions?"

"Do me a favor, alright?"

"Oh, god…"

"Tom, I'm serious," Sybil tried, her voice pleading. "Promise me you won't ever kiss a girl you don't like."

"Why do you care what girls I'm kissing?"

"Because I'm your best friend, that's why!" Sybil offered quickly. "Don't you care who I kiss?"

Tom thought for a minute. "Fine," he sighed. "You too."

"Me too what?"

"Promise me you won't ever kiss a boy you don't like."

"I promise," Sybil nodded, suddenly proud of their shared pact. "Tom…"

Tom looked to her, her face flushed and her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. "Yeah, Syb?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Tom blinked. "What?"

"Can I kiss—"

All time stopped as Tom leaned in, hushing Sybil's lips, begging that she just stop talking - or at least that's what he told himself he was doing. She was soft though, all of her so supple and gentle and belonging to him in this moment. There was, of course, the first brush of noses, and then the shift that occurred as the two did their best to make the angle just right. Their mouths, originally unyielding, gave way, and both of them parted, as if to sigh. The more the kiss deepened, Sybil found herself distracted by the clock in her mind, counting down, urging her to pull away. Mary had told her once how awkward her first kiss had been and Sybil was sure that hers would be just the same. Here though, Sybil couldn't help but to brush off the reminder, and deepen the kiss, even going as far as to cup Tom's neck, her thumbs on his collarbone, caressing skin just as her lips did. His hands found a similar home on her hips, with one gripping her shirt, fisting the material the longer the kiss continued.

As they broke apart, Sybil sighed, soon growing embarrassed by how moist her mouth was and how such a wonderful sound could come from her lips after they had just been thoroughly exhausted. Looking to Tom, she smiled, and he smiled back before grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling her back down onto the grass with him, the two laying just as they had before, staring up at the moving sky.

* * *

x. Elle


	5. Dirty Hands

**A/N:** A look at a fifteen year old Sybil and Tom as just friends because if you think about it we never saw them without the intimacy (even though I tried for a very long time to make you believe you did...)

* * *

His hands were filthy, and rightfully so. All morning Tom had been in the empty mechanic shop, bent at the waist, his upper body almost completely hidden underneath the rusted hood of his Mustang. Though he could barely wait, the paint would be the last thing he would have done to the car, and in the meantime, he spent his weekends working for the local mechanic for free, a trade off that earned him trust and the shop to himself on after hours.

Matthew and Max had stopped in not too long ago, bringing Tom a cup of coffee. He took it graciously, and with a smile continued to work as Max, five years old, sat on a nearby stool watching Tom explain to his father the logistics of the rest of the restoration. Tom had plenty of time, and though he'd already taken the car out for a drive several times, he wouldn't officially get his license for another year. He craved it though, and needed it in a way it seemed nobody understood, not even Sybil. With his car he could get a better job, and then could begin to pay Robert rent for the loft above the garage when he moves in on his birthday. Of course Cora and Robert would never ask him for money, but it wasn't about them. This was Tom's choice, and one step of many that would grant him the life he believed he deserved despite the hand the world had dealt him in disagreement.

"Hey you."

Tom looked up from the engine and smiled. Sybil walked toward him, her studio bag tossed over her shoulder, the other arm extended, carrying a brown paper bag.

Tom straightened up and grabbed for the item. "What's this?" he asked, now opening the bag to look inside. His gaze then shifted back to his best friend.

"I brought you dinner," Sybil offered, now using her arms to hoist herself up onto a nearby workbench. She looked a bit silly, her exposed skin pale, matching the innocent shades of grey and pink of her chosen ballet attire.

Tom sighed and walked to Sybil. He handed her the bag of food and she held it, watching now as he joined her on the workbench. "I'm not giving this back until you wash your hands," she commented.

His eyes narrowed and he laughed a bit. "Thanks, mam." Tom didn't bother to get off the workbench and instead leaned over to turn on the sink and run his hands under the water. Sybil watched as the veins of his wrist constricted the more he rubbed at his skin. The soap was dirty, and as it washed away, Sybil frowned, missing the sight of Tom's hands now covered by a nearby rag.

He straightened his posture and turned back to Sybil. "Better?"

She looked down to his hands. Oil and other grime still stained parts of his skin, especially the areas around his fingernails. "That's disgusting," she said while handing him his food.

Tom could only smile. "What is this?"

"Turkey sandwich and some gnocchi soup thing. I even remembered to grab you a spoon," she stated proudly causing Tom to chuckle.

"Thanks, Syb."

"Have you been here all afternoon?" Tom, who had just taken a bite of his sandwich, nodded. "How's it going? Will it be ready to drive me to school next year?"

Tom tapped at his chest as a laugh escaped his lips, causing him to almost choke. "You wish. I'm not your chauffeur."

"You promised! Besides, how cool are you going to look showing up by yourself? Answer: not very."

Another laugh from Tom and he returned to his sandwich, enjoying the way it was prepared with just the slightest bit of cheese spread. He was sure Sybil didn't make it, but he could tell she took a considerate amount of time requesting the to-go bag from Mrs. Patmore. Perhaps she had even put in the order before heading off to dance class that same morning.

Crumpling up the paper wrapping, Tom threw it toward a nearby trashcan before turning to the soup. Carefully, so as not to spill any of the liquid onto his jeans, he grabbed for the spoon Sybil made special mention of, and slurped at the liquid.

"What's that?" Sybil questioned, pointing to the large cylinder under the hood of Tom's car.

Tom looked up from his cup of soup. "The breather."

Sybil squinted, but resolved. "What's that?" she pointed again, this time to a large valve near the front of the engine.

"That's where the oil goes."

Slowly, Sybil nodded as if to better understand it all. "What's that?" her voice asked again.

Tom sighed. "My radiator valve."

"And that?"

"Do you want a tour, Syb?"

She giggled. "No, I just thought you'd enjoy me taking an interest in what you're interested in."

Tom shrugged as he sipped the last of his soup. "You don't have to like cars just because I like cars. I mean, no offense, I love going to your shows and all, but ballet's really not my thing."

Sybil slumped over, feigning disappointment in an extremely dramatic way, Tom couldn't help but laugh as he jumped down off the bench and walked to the garbage to dispose of all of his trash. "You love ballet. Don't even lie."

"Watching girls in short skirts, sure. Count me in," he agreed.

"Hey! That's not what it's about. And besides. Nobody makes you come."

"Nobody made you come to the garage today either, did they?"

A silence settled over the pair as what was said began to register in their minds. She was right, and so was he; nobody ever forced them to be in the other's lives, and yet despite all of their differences, here they were.

Deciding she was against the silence and all it stood for, Sybil took her usual route and deflected the truth by changing the subject completely. "Why is it," she began, "that mechanics always wear white shirts? Isn't that counterproductive?"

Tom didn't bother to look to her this time. His fuse box was being stubborn and he vowed to get it completely fixed by the time he left the shop that night. He also didn't need to see Sybil to carry on a conversation with her.

A chuckle and Tom answered: "We don't. I just didn't feel like wearing my jumpsuit all day. It's hot," he pointed out.

"Why don't you just take off your shirt then?" She asked, her voice saccharine as her legs dangled carelessly from the workbench.

Tom laughed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, don't be gross."

"You suggested it."

"It's hot," she said, repeating his words to use them in her defense as a blush flooded her cheeks and chest.

Tom sighed and walked to where Sybil was sitting. She inched back, suddenly feeling threatened by the broadness of his shoulders and the way his hair pieces after a long day of work. "This skirt is stupid," he played, grabbing for the pale pink georgette wrap-skirt. "Why don't you just take it off?"

"I was cold walking over here."

"I thought it was hot?" he teased.

Sybil could only nod, this time swallowing as well, as her eyes darted back and forth from his mouth to his glance, boring into her so deeply.

"It's because you have chicken legs," Tom stated casually.

Sybil's was knocked out of her reverie, her eyes no longer distracted and her jaw slacking at the sound of her best friend's admission. "Do I? You're lying!"

"You're too thin, Syb..."

"For your information," she said, straightening up with arms akimbo, "My body is my own and as long as I am healthy I don't believe it's anyone's position to tell me what to do with it."

Her anger growing, Sybil reached out to smack Tom on the chest but was stopped, his arm wrapping around her wrist, stilling her actions. Her eyes widened in surprise and for a moment the two breathed in time with one another, deciding where to go from here. Quickly, Sybil tried to release her arm from his grasp but couldn't. Tom laughed and called her weak, something that had her kicking at his legs in an effort to free herself.

"Weak," he repeated, and this time when she fought back he joined her, enjoying the way she attempted to rid his weight from her body, while at the same time, leaning into him, her mussed hair tangling as her limbs flailed.

"Shut up," she spat. It was clear she was laughing as well, the air brushing past their lips distracting them both from how close their faces were, and how if they wanted, it would be that easy to give in to something they'd perhaps denied for far too long, even at this point.

Again, they exhaled and then inhaled before Tom released Sybil's hands, causing them to float upward in surrender.

"Your hands are filthy," Sybil spat.

The moment was gone, added to the pile of so many others that passed just as it had, quietly and without incident, leading to another that had consequences so large neither dared to speak of it for almost three years.

* * *

x. Elle


	6. The First Time They Were Caught

**A/N:** As I said on tumblr, you can't possibly think that Mary walking in on these two was the first time they were caught…

* * *

"Tom, stop, stop..."

He removed his lips from her neck and looked at her, out of breath, and now confused by her sudden hesitation. "What's wrong?" he breathed out, still hovering above her.

"I can't stop thinking about it."

Tom's forehead kinked in curiosity as his eyes began to search hers for a better answer. "About what?"

"My dad."

He sighed and rolled over onto his back. With his head on a pillow now, he turned to look at Sybil. "You're thinking of your dad while we're doing this?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Stop," she warned. "Not like that. Just...how could he?"

"Okay," Tom sighed, now reaching over toward the floor to feel around for the mesh shorts she had previously rid him of. Grabbing for them, he began to slip them on, arching his hips up off the mattress to finish the process. "You okay?"

Sybil rolled her head against the pillow and looked to her best friend. She blinked, and then smiled, causing Tom to return the favor out of habit. "Do you think my mum knows?"

Tom was looking up at the ceiling and he didn't dare turn back to Sybil. This was all they needed, their chests rising and falling as they breathed in and out, laying beside one another with fingertips barely touching. "I don't know. I doubt it. Do you think it'd still be happening if she did?"

It was Sybil's turn to shrug. "I can't get my mind around it happening at all. I just...I don't know," she settled.

"Are you going to confront him about it?"

For some reason this motivated Sybil, causing her to sit up, her legs bent underneath her small frame, which was currently drowning in one of Tom's old shirts. "Should I?"

Following her lead, Tom also sat up. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to yell at him and tell him what a piece of shit he is."

"Do it."

Sybil looked up. "I don't even want to look at him," she faltered. "At dinner, he speaks and it takes everything in me not to spit in his face."

Tom nodded and reached out for her. Slowly, he touched his hand to her shoulder, rubbing the skin in an effort to calm her down. "Do you think it was a one time thing or—"

"If you saw the way he was fucking her you'd know it wasn't a one time thing."

Tom sighed. "I'm so sorry, Syb," he offered, wishing he was equipped with something else. "If you want, I'll go with you."

"Where?" she choked out quickly, as if she was waiting for those words all along.

Tom smiled. "To talk to him. Or to tell your mum. Whatever you need."

"What a mess this is. How could he do that? Thirty five years of marriage reduced to nothing because he needs his kicks."

Tom looked away, then back to his best friend. "I don't know what to say."

Sybil sighed. "It's fine," she began, now straightening up so she was kneeling before him. In one swift motion she moved so she was straddling him, her legs still bent at the knee, reminding her of the way they hurriedly made love that morning before school. "I'm sorry I've been so distracted," Sybil said, now tossing her hair off to one side so that she could lean down and kiss Tom's collarbone without incident. "You deserve better," she mumbled, in between hot, sweet kisses to his neck and upper chest.

Her hands, previously on his shoulders, slid down to his hips, toying with the waistband of his shorts, and beneath them, his boxer briefs.

"Sybil, I was—"

Quickly, Sybil hopped off of Tom and returned to her earlier position, sitting beside him in a heap, the hem of his old t-shirt only barely covering the lace underwear she wore. "Papa!" she let out.

Her heart was beating quickly and she was unsure whether it was the way Tom's hands had reached up to cup her neck or the way her father was currently looking at her, begging for an answer. Carefully, so as to merely toe the line she hoped to soon create, she smiled sweetly and waited. Her lack of words were a proof of innocence, a show that she was no more guilty than her father in any of this. At the same time, Robert was so against a romantic relationship forming between her and her best friend that Sybil was almost positive he'd deny them even if he just walked in on something much more intimate.

"How was work, Papa?"

Robert merely nodded. "I have to be to that candidate's dinner at eight. Your mother and I were wondering if you and Tom were all set for supper."

Tom said nothing. In noticing this, Sybil continued her routine, smiling at her father as she assured him that they had already asked Mrs. Patmore to make them pizza for later.

"Alright, well we're heading out soon."

"Bye!" Sybil tried, hoping her father would just leave already. The only thing he had left to say were words that he'd never let escape his lips and Sybil was sure that by the time they did, she'd have no time for them or the man expelling them. Still, it was a wonder his mind was even going there as his eyes darted back and forth between his daughter and her best friend.

"Have fun," Tom added awkwardly, causing Robert to nod and shut the door.

In her father's absence, Sybil dropped her head back to let out a loud cackle, and she clapped, as if to applaud their performances. "Have fun?" she asked. "What a snooze fest that party will be."

"I froze," Tom said quickly. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

Sybil climbed back onto Tom, this time wrapped her arms around his neck as well. "No, I don't. He's got his head so far up his own ass to notice what anyone else is doing."

"Oh yeah?" Tom teased back, enjoying now how close Sybil's lips were to his own. He was sure that if he breathed a certain way, or spoke a favorite word, he'd be able to claim them as his own.

"Yeah," Sybil nodded, teasingly, before giving in, capturing Tom's lips and letting his hands roam all over the naked skin beneath her shirt.

"Should we lock the door?"

Sybil pulled her mouth from his and shook her head. "They're leaving soon." And then: "Besides, the risk is half the fun, right?"

* * *

x. Elle


	7. Bonfire

"This is very illegal."

Tom looked up to Sybil and laughed. "Yeah, well it's not any less legal just because you're not helping."

Sybil rolled her eyes and walked to him. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, staring at the hole he had just dug and the way his broad arms, covered in one of his favorite sweatshirts, reached forward, constraining the material as he placed a piece of wood in the sand below.

"Well it's almost done now," he sighed, adding another log to the pile. "Here, grab me my lighter, will you?"

"Are you sure we're not going to get caught?"

Tom laughed and took the lighter Sybil now offered up. "I never said that. I only said that with the amount of money your grandmother donates to this town and pays on property taxes, they can't really do anything about it. Also," Tom began, his voice changing to show his words would change as well, "Just tell them you're a stupid Brit."

"Hey!" Sybil yelped, kicking sand at him, causing the fire to crackle.

Tom laughed and stood up. He walked over to her and began to shake out the blanket they had brought down to the cove with them. Ignoring her, he once found out, was his most powerful tool in gaining her affection back. Even Sybil was aware of her nasty habit, one she concluded only allowed this affair to continue for so long.

Now sitting on the blanket and ready to lay back, Tom patted at the empty space next to him. With a raised eyebrow he propositioned her. "Come lay down with me?"

Another eye roll and Sybil stomped over, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest. She plopped down onto the plaid blanket and screamed as Tom immediately pulled her back with him.

With a quick swat to his chest, she rolled over onto her back. "Tom, you ass! Now there's sand in my hair."

"You're such a girl."

"Do you want sand in your hair?"

"I don't care," he shrugged. "Now put it in my shorts and that'd be another story."

"Don't tempt me," she spat. When he shifted his attention to the sky, Sybil smiled, amused by their banter, before allowing her eyes to join him there.

"Oooh!" Tom said energetically. "Did you see that?"

Sybil shifted, moving so she was now leaning back on her elbows. "No. What?"

Tom laughed. "Nothing. Just the stars."

She sighed and flopped back. "You're such a dork."

"I don't know what you find so nice about them. I mean, they're clearer here than in London, but no clearer than at Downton."

"You used to love looking at the stars," Sybil mentioned. "Besides, look how calm it all is."

"It's freezing out here," Tom corrected.

Sybil just shook her head. "Is there anything else you want to complain about?"

"Yeah, actually, you nearly gave me blue balls in the bathroom this morning walking around in just your underwear. Want to not do that tomorrow morning?"

Sybil could only laugh. _Had she done that?_ her mind asked, causing her to smile again. Of course she had, and she'd do it again tomorrow morning as well, and then the morning after, if only because she liked to tease. His reaction, the way his eyes feasted on her and how he licked his lip, gave her too much satisfaction. In fact, he looked upon her much in the way he used to look up at the stars: mystified and feeling small in the presence of something so beautiful.

"Go wank before bed. See if I care," Sybil said casually.

"The fact that you'd rather me wank than fuck you in your grandmother's house makes me question your morals."

"They're not my morals, they're yours. You're the one ogling me in my grandmother's house. I've had just the most innocent week."

"Syb," Tom said, looking to her with eyes that begged to differ. "You skinny dipped in the bay yesterday."

"That's not sexual. That's just my body."

Tom let out a slight, breathy laugh. "Whatever you say."

"You're going to get a girl when I go off to Juilliard. She'll be the receptionist in Hunter's office or something."

Tom thought for a moment. "The receptionist in Hunter's office is a dude."

Sybil rolled her head against the blanket to get a better look at her best friend. "Him then?"

It was Tom's turn to roll his eyes. "No."

"I don't know. Or maybe she'll work for the competition and you'll have this feisty relationship consisting merely of steamy hate sex."

"Nah."

Sybil shrugged. "Sounds pretty good to me."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I don't date male dancers, you know that."

"Why, because they're all gay?"

"Don't make me follow through on that whole sand in the shorts bit!" Sybil tried. "And no, that's not the reason, nor is that true. Some of them are straight and quite attractive. And very, very muscular," she reminded, her voice dropping down in tone the more she spoke. "They're just all very self-involved." Then: "Besides, I don't want a boyfriend."

"You'll get one," Tom insisted."

Sybil narrowed her eyes. "And you'll get a girlfriend."

"No, I won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Probably the fact that I don't want a girlfriend."

"A quick fuck then?" Sybil tried.

Tom shook his head. "I have that already."

"Tom, for the most part, what we do, is anything but quick. Besides, I'll be in New York. You'll need a girlfriend or something…"

"I don't want a girlfriend," he repeated, his face unchanging.

Sybil shrugged before returning her attention to the night sky. "Better get that hand, ready."

Tom sat up and turned to face Sybil. "You know what, that's really not fair. Don't make it seem like this is just us fucking so I can get my kicks, alright? You started this!"

Sybil laughed as she catapulted herself up into a sitting position. "And so what if I did?"

"Well what? Should I buy you a toy before you leave for New York?" he spat, clearly offended that Sybil was seemingly reducing him to something of the same.

"I don't do that…"

"Well for your information, neither do I."

Sybil blinked. "What? Don't all guys..."

"I don't know!" Tom shrugged. "Have I before? Sure! But since we started screwing around, let's be honest, there's really no need."

Slowly, Sybil allowed herself to laugh, then after placing the back of her hand to her mouth, full on laughed. "Well I am flattered. And no, I don't need a toy. Though, you could visit."

Tom smiled and scooted closer to her. He was dangerously close, and she sighed, a slight moan escaping her lips as she did so. One minute she was calm and composed and the next, brought to her knees, sometimes quite figuratively, over how much power her best friend often had over her. She nodded, urging the words forming on his lips to fall.

"You did not just compare me to a toy. I'd like you to tell me what toy can make you scream the way I do. What toy has you crying out, writhing, as it responds to your every request..."

Sybil slowly shook her head in denial of all he was saying. "You're right," she whispered. "Maybe I'm scared to get a boyfriend because I know he'll never love me the way you do."

She said one thing but meant another, and Tom smiled, reveling in this fact. "I know," he nodded. "Me too."

It was the only time they'd ever come so close to the truth before.

* * *

x. Elle


	8. Halloween - Ending 1

_"It wasn't that Sybil didn't trust Tom, because she absolutely did. It was more that she knew his fantasy, one he had revealed to her when they were sixteen and he suggested, in the middle of their love-making, that she be a nurse for Halloween. Being far wittier than she ever thought was possibly, she slyly smiled and kissed his lips, telling him she liked this idea. When she came down the stairs the next night at her parent's annual party, however, Tom's look of lust was gone. She was in a nurse's uniform, but not the one he was expecting. The hat was similar but this was one she had rented from a costume shop that mimicked what girls during the first world war would have worn in army hospitals. Of course she rewarded him later that night, when she invited him to her room to show him the other nurse's uniform she had picked out. She told him that this was only for him, and then he took his time, ridding her of the tight and slinky white cotton dress." - Chapter 14_

I was sure I'd have nothing to write for Halloween, and I especially didn't expect for BC to provide me with a missing moment, but here we are. The above excerpt it from the chapter when Tom has returned home after his accident and was given as exposition for why Sybil requested a male nurse for his at-home care. The story below is my first attempt at writing this moment. I had full intention of having this be light and fluffy and fun and somehow the one-shot below was created instead. If it breaks your heart the way it broke mine, fear not! I'm posting the same scene with an alternate ending tomorrow.

* * *

It was no surprise to anyone that the parties Cora threw were of no interest to Tom. He hated the tight suits, the shiny shoes, and the overall brown-nosing. He disliked the small appetizers and the stuffy liquors and how every guest seemed to have their own agenda, matching their perfectly coiffed hair and fake smiles. This party was no exception, and though for charity, as most of Cora's parties were, he found himself completely averse to the idea of a theme. That is, until Sybil told him of the costume she'd be wearing.

It was almost a year ago when the two were making love, deep in the throws of passion when Tom made a comment about Sybil dressing up. Earlier in the week he had been sick, bedridden with a nasty cold that left his bones aching and his head pounding. Ever the best friend, Sybil spent every moment taking care of him, and when he was better, she nursed him back to health in a different way, one that had him grunting out rather loudly as she collapsed down onto his chest, the two riding the aftermath of their shared orgasm together.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A nurse," Tom stated simply.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "What is it with you boys and your costumes? Will you be dressed up too?"

"No. There's no need. You're going to take care of me. Besides, I'm not talking about anyone else. Just you, Syb."

"Ha!" Sybil let out, then standing up to walk to where she had previously thrown down Tom's shirt. She bent over, giving him a clear view of her backside before covering her upper body with the fabric and getting back into bed. "What's in it for me?"

Tom narrowed his eyes as a cocky smirk overtook his features. "What's ever in it for you?"

Sybil sighed. She thought for a moment, several ideas appearing through her mind forcing her to quickly settle on the one that refused to leave. "Okay. Fine."

Time passed, and Sybil never did bring the costume out. It was too easy to just buy it and wear it one night, to give in that easily without first putting up a bit of a fight. She was sure that Tom had thought she'd forgotten, or perhaps it was he who forgot, not caring how he had her, just as long as she was his, pressed naked and warm into his side night after night.

When it was time to change for her mother's fundraiser Sybil looked into her bedroom mirror and smiled. Her usual kinky curls were pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, covered then by a simple sheet-like head scarf. It matched the starched white apron she wore. The green color of her dress was muted, and Sybil wondered if it was due to several washes or general aging. She rented the frock from a local theatre house in London; the facility was used to dealing with costume designers and seamstresses, not wide-eyed girls with plans to tease their best friends.

It was warm, she knew that now as she descended the steps toward where the party was already in full swing. Seeing Mary standing close to the fireplace, Sybil walked to her, avoiding the glances thrown her way. She was, by far, the youngest girl at this party of mostly middle aged socialites and somehow, the most covered up. Even twenty nine year old Mary stood out, but Sybil found comfort in her sister being nearby especially a tray of champagne passed by and was offered to both women.

"What's with the outfit?" Mary shot out.

Sybil looked down to her own dress before returning her eyes to her sister's costume. Mary's hair was also pulled back, soft pin curls framing her face. She wore a thick black headscarf, matching the black stockings on her legs. To pull it all together, a dress that looked to be made of pure gold sparkled, catching light whichever way Mary turned.

"It's a long story," she sighed, suddenly regretting her decision. She did feel entirely out of place in such a heavy period piece. Something like this would be funny if Mary knew the whole story but Sybil wasn't ready for that yet, and she certainly wasn't ready for anyone to discover what she had planned for later, maybe not even Tom.

"You look nice though," Sybil tried, hoping to change the subject. "The flapper look suits you."

"I'm Daisy Buchanan," Mary said with a small laugh before striking a pose, her cigarette holder pointed high in the air. "Matthew's around here somewhere. The most dapper Gatsby if there ever was one..."

Sybil merely quirked her eyebrows. "And what's Max?"

Mary sighed. "We tried to get him to match our theme but he decided he didn't want to dress up. Isobel has taken him to the museum. There's a spooky stargazing event at the planetarium tonight."

"Ahhh," Sybil nodded in understanding, suddenly wishing she was accompanying her nephew in watching the sky.

Behind them, Matthew walked over, and with him, Tom, dressed plainly in a pair of jeans, a button up, and a sports jacket. The outfit was complete with his signature Chuck Taylor's and his hair, just a bit more shaggy than usual.

With an arm crossed over her waist, Mary sipped at her glass of champagne and then leaned into Tom. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Matthew laughed. "I asked him the same thing."

Tom said nothing. His eyes were still trained on Sybil and all the fabric covering her body.

"Tom?" she whispered, pulling him out of his reverie.

He picked his head up and looked around. "What?"

Sybil giggled. "Mary asked what your costume was."

"Oh, uh, Blane McDonnagh."

Mary nearly spit her champagne out. "Like from _Pretty in Pink_?"

"I was lazy, alright? And your mum wouldn't let me skip this one."

"Why is that so funny?" Sybil spat. "I don't want to be here either."

"It's not funny," Matthew interfered, speaking for his wife who was still chuckling behind her satin glove covered hand.

"I'd have pegged you as more of a Duckie, that's all," Mary said, causing herself to laugh once again.

"C'mon, Tom, let's go get a drink before we're forced to socialize."

Boldly, Sybil grabbed Tom's hand and lead them away from Mary and Matthew. Mary was always well-intentioned and when Sybil told anyone about her, she first assured them of this. She never wished to be cruel or biting, it was just in her nature to tease. In particular, she always had fun with Tom, a habit she picked up ever since the boy first moved in to Downton after his mother's passing. Sybil knew it could be worse; she could have ignored him or been downright mean, but instead she made fun, using what she believed against him. What made it worse was that Tom, a boy who constantly seemed to be so unaffected by the world, actually let it get to him. In doing so, he only acknowledged what Mary thought to be true: he was hopelessly in love with Sybil.

With her hand still grasping Tom's, the two came to a stop, standing at the end of the line for the bar. "What's with the costume?" Tom leaned in and asked.

Sybil's cheeks, already a simple pink, deepened in their shade. "It was supposed to be a joke. You were supposed to be enraged and shocked," she offered. "I know what you were expecting…"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What was I expecting?"

"The typical nurse's halloween costume. The tights, the tits, the skirt…" Sybil's voice trailed off again as she watched Tom, his mouth pulling into a small smirk as he listened to her recount the outfit he already had in his head. Upon realizing this, she nudged at his shoulder with both hands, ridding his body of the laughter it was already containing. "Okay, you know what, I'm not going to come to my parent's party dressed like that, alright?"

"No," Tom began, his tongue pressed tightly into his cheek, "I wouldn't want that."

"You don't own me!" Sybil whispered. "You don't own what we do!"

"Syb, Syb," Tom tried, reaching out to grab for each wrist. "Calm down, alright? Someone will hear you."

Sybil straightened up and turned back so that she was no longer facing Tom, but instead the back of an elderly man's head. He leaned in to her again. "You look really nice, actually."

Sybil looked to him and smiled. "You too. A bit like Jonathan, actually," she said, and it was Tom who pinched her side, causing her to yelp as she moved to escape his advances. Nearby, Cora and Robert shot the two a disapproving look, causing them to momentarily settle down before letting out several short bursts of laughter.

Stepping up again in line, Sybil leaned back in to Tom. "I would have been your Andie, you know."

Another step forward and it was Tom's turn. "Hey," he started - he just wanted to hear Sybil say it. "What do you think Mary meant about that Duckie comment?"

Sybil sighed. "It was a comment on you being poor, now c'mon, I want a drink and then we're hitting the food table, and then we're going upstairs to watch zombie films."

"Is that an order?"

Sybil stepped forward and gave the girl behind the bar her preferred beverage. Tom did the same, and when he turned back to Sybil, she merely nodded.

"Best friend's order," she assured.

Their plan didn't come to fruition right away. After the bar, the two made a detour for the buffet, where Sybil rolled her eyes at all of the unsatisfactory options. They were merely things to put in her mouth to distract her brain into thinking it was eating, she told Tom, causing him to drop his head back and laugh as he pressed a hand to his chest. From there, Mrs. Eaton stopped Sybil, asking about her upcoming college plans, and when her next ballet recital was. When Tom was distracted by a local businessman who used to be friends with his mother, Sybil found herself occupying her time with a rather bland conversation with Jonathan Ashford. It seemed as it the two, her and Tom, could not get on the same page. When one exhausting social conversation would end, the other would be on to the next, making it halfway through the party when the two finally stole away into a hallway to sneak down the back stairway toward the kitchen.

"I'm starved!" Sybil let out, holding her hands wide at her sides.

"You're always hungry," Tom commented.

"So are you," she retorted. "C'mon, I saw cookies down here before."

In the kitchen they grabbed the cookies Sybil had mentioned, as well as two bags of potato crisps, a box of candies, and several bottles of water.

"Thank god for the water or else this whole thing would be really unhealthy," Tom deadpanned as they began to ascend the staircase toward the top floor.

Sybil looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Then: "Your place or mine?" she asked, causing Tom to chuckle, to which she replied with a similar breathy laugh.

"Yours."

"You love my bed."

"Something like that," he replied, his lips smirking but not daring to fall open completely.

Inside, the two flopped down onto the bed, carrying with them all of their snacks. Immediately, Sybil was moving to her vanity to rid her hair of its headscarf. Soon after, all of the pins were dismissed as well, allowing her curls to fall down her back and around her face without restraint.

Next, came her apron, which Sybil carefully lifted over her head, pulling her hair up with it, causing it all to cascade back down. The zipper on the inside seam of her dress made it easy to strip the rest of the costume off, leaving Sybil in mismatching undergarments, the frock in a pool at her feet.

Tom watched all of this, then looked down, noting his full attire, went to stand. "Do you have any of my stuff in here?"

Sybil nodded and pointed to the armoire near the closet. "There should be some shorts and a zip-up in the bottom drawer."

As Tom was changing, he looked to Sybil. "Does Mrs. Hughes ever ask whose stuff it is?"

"Don't you think she knows?"

"Nah," Tom stated plainly. "They're all blind," he said, now stepping into her to wrap his arms around her waist. "Every last one of them."

Sybil rolled her eyes but leaned her neck to the side all the same, giving him what he wanted as if it was a chore - as if she didn't want it just the same. She always knew Tom was attracted to her, especially physically. Even before they began all of this it was clear in the way he watched her move, and she made no complaints of it because she was fond of his body as well, so broad and still growing. Sometimes though, she wondered if he ever craved her with all of her clothes on. She'd never reveal this to him, but lately it was all she could think about: the innocence of hands roaming and chaste kisses atop clothed skin and neatly made beds.

"How long have you been waiting to do that?"

"Since I saw you walk down the stairs," Tom mumbled. "I knew you weren't going to wear the other costume," he said, now lifting his head so he could begin his assault on the other side of her neck.

"Don't mark me," Sybil whispered, thinking of the last time that happened and how she had to explain it away to her grandmother and her ballet teacher as a burn from a curling iron, and then how in bed at night, she touched the sensitive area, wishing she could feel his lips there again.

Looking to her best friend, Sybil stood on her toes and leaned up to kiss him, her lips landing on the corner of his mouth in a way that was slow and sensual and not at all what this was supposed to be about. Everyday it seemed they were coming closer to approaching the line they had long ago drawn, and everyday they found themselves running, knowing all the same that for every step back, they took two steps forward.

Gently, Sybil reached for the zipper of Tom's hoodie and began to pull it down. She then peeled the soft cotton off his shoulders, a task that was helped by him shrugging out of the material. His clothing was often claimed by her, and he'd never tell her, but it was as good a costume as any, especially when she wore it so carelessly, his much too big zip-up falling off her shoulder as it was only zipped up halfway, leaving plenty of her toned stomach exposed to him, as well as an ample amount of cleavage.

Back on the bed now, a transition was made, silently of course, that they were back to being just friends. As Sybil put in one of their favorite zombie films, Tom propped himself up against her headboard, a position he loved because it gave way for Sybil to lean her head against his thigh where the two would then pass food and drinks back and forth.

"Everytime I watch this movie," Sybil began, chewing her candies then swallowing, "I'm reminded of how good it is. Like, why is it not more popular?"

"You just like the fact that it actually has a plot."

"Not only a plot," Sybil tried, putting on her best persuasive tone, "But lessons. In what zombie movie are the zombies actually given feelings? Not dialogue, but feelings," she pointed out, using her finger in the air to do so.

Tom chuckled. "Not many. Though, people have criticized this movie for that reason."

"Those people have no taste. This is cinematic brilliance."

Again, Tom laughed, and as Sybil watched him, she couldn't help but to do the same. "Whatever you say, Syb."

"Hey," Sybil said, turning over onto her stomach so she was facing him. "Have you heard from Hunter?" Tom shook his head. "He'll call…"

"And if he doesn't? I already got my acceptance to Trinity."

"You'd leave me like that?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "You'll be leaving me too."

"Cambridge isn't that far from here," she reminded.

"I really wish you'd cut this whole Cambridge bullshit. You're not going and you know it."

"What if I don't get into Juilliard? Then I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You'll get into Juilliard, Syb. And you'll be awesome."

"And you'll miss me?" she teased, and yet, waited, holding her breath for his perfect response.

"Always."

Sybil softly exhaled. "Hunter will hire you."

When the movie finished and the credits began to roll, Sybil hopped off the bed and went to turn the television off. Tom headed for the door, at which point he grabbed for the handle, causing Sybil to call out after him.

"What are you doing?" She was sure he was just going to turn off the light.

"I'm going home."

"This is your home," Sybil reasoned. And then: "Did I do something?"

"No," Tom said, as if it was a ridiculous question. He wasn't lying either; she hadn't done a single thing, and that was beginning to become a problem. "I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

Sybil nodded, quickly, and without reprieve, her head practically dismissing him. He didn't invite him to join her, so she took it as nothing more than a goodbye.

"I'll see you in the morning, then?"

Tom nodded. "Night."

With the door closed, Sybil collapsed onto her bed, pulling her knees to her chest in an attempt to fight off the ever present lump in her throat. It was like this lately, with periods of bliss and laughter colliding so harshly with reality, turning them both sad and withdrawn. Her and Tom grew up together, and lately, too fast it seemed. He made her feel beautiful and worthy and every bit the woman she hoped she could someday be, and yet, when he rejected her advances she became a scared little girl, dressing up in a costume to simply get his attention.

This wasn't who she was, she told herself, repeating the sentiment as she crossed the lawn in an oversized cardigan that hit right above her knee. The length was more than enough to cover the scandalous outfit beneath it, and with it, all her shame. These were things girlfriends did for their boyfriends. This was supposed to be fun and this was supposed to be exciting, and yet, Sybil hated herself for it. Only she could admit to herself now, especially with it staring her in the face, her chest pushed up with the help of a padded bra, that she couldn't lose him. It wasn't just as a friend either, though that was the most important part. She needed the intimacy and she needed the way he reminded her of who she was. She just wasn't ready to give him anything other than her body to receive it, and she found Tom becoming more and more closed off at the idea of this, thus limiting the parts of him she saw as well.

At the top of the steps leading up to Tom's loft, Sybil paused, and used the window to check her reflection. Her hair still hung in loose waves and her usually pouty lips looked chapped as she did her best from letting them fall into a frown.

Satisfied, but with barely enough courage, Sybil reached forward and knocked at the door. Instantly, as if he was waiting for her on the other side, Tom opened the door and muttered a quick, "I'm sorry," with closed eyes.

When he opened them, they were wide as ever, taking in Sybil and all the skin exposed to him in her skimpy nurse's costume.

His silence had her heart beating fast, and she looked down to her outfit, then back to him, his mouth still hung open, producing nothing to combat the quiet. "No, you're right," Sybil nodded, already heading for the stairs. "This was such a stupid idea…"

"Syb, wait," Tom tried, reaching out for her wrist. In catching it, he gave it a tug, causing her body to twirl back toward him. "I was just shocked, that's all. I, uh…" He swallowed hard. "I didn't think you'd actually do it."

Sybil rolled her eyes and threw her hands down for emphasis. "Yeah, well I did, and now I feel really dumb."

"You don't look dumb," Tom assured. "You look...really, really sexy."

Suddenly feeling scrutinized, Sybil crossed her arms over her chest. A gust of wind blew, pushing her hair back off her face as she looked away, still unable to meet his glance. "Well, it's cold, so…"

"Oh, here," Tom said. He stood back and in doing so, opened the door wider to invite her in. "I have the fireplace on, actually. And I was just getting some writing done—"

Sybil walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay, Thoreau."

Tom looked over his shoulder at her and smirk. "You think Thoreau had half naked girls coming to Walden often?"

"I don't know," Sybil sing-songed. "Do you have half naked girls coming up here often?"

Tom took a step closer to her. "Just you."

Sybil sat back. "Are you going to come shag me or not?"

His shoulders slumped. Several more steps had him standing at Sybil's feet. "Is that what you want?"

Sybil shrugged. "I don't know what I want, Tom. I don't know why you've been so weird lately. I just want to stop thinking about it all for a little bit."

Tom nodded and leaned into her. Quickly, he captured her lips, his hand even going to cup the side of her face. It was fast and hungry and left them both breathless. "Can I take it off?"

Sybil chuckled. "Whatever you want."

"God, Syb...I didn't think you'd do it. And you did and now I feel stupid."

"Welcome to the club," she quipped.

"Why do you feel stupid?"

Sybil lifted her head and shot the question back at her best friend. "Why do you feel stupid?"

"I don't need you like this. This isn't what this is about—"

"Well isn't it?" Sybil spat, soon regretting her words just as quickly as she said them.

Tom sighed and looked down. "Is it Syb? I don't know either! You've been weird lately too. Should we just stop? You know, it was fun for awhile, but maybe we've had our run."

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't know what I want!" he roared.

"Me neither," she shook her head.

The tension had them both trying to catch their breath. In a split second, her hands were on his neck, and his, cupping the back of her head, keeping her close as they moved against one another. She was in his lap now, straddling him, pushing his loose sweatpants down the more she moved. With them, she exposed herself, and the tiny red thong she wore underneath her tight dress.

"Fuck, Sybil," Tom moaned and dropped his head back. He was at her disposal, there, ready and willing to be as used as she was when she first walked in.

With one last kiss to his collarbone, Sybil picked her head up and smiled. Shyly, she laid back, offering herself up to him. "Undress me, Tom."

Going to lay beside her, Tom obliged. In haste, his calloused hands popped each button out of its loop, the dress falling to the side, exposing all of Sybil. Her skin shied away from him as he ran a hand over her tummy, then down to rest on her hip, pulling her in so he could kiss her chin. He nuzzled her with his nose and closed his eyes, muttering another "I'm sorry" against her warm skin.

"Don't be sorry," she whispered. "We're both just stressed," she reasoned, her own hands reaching out to grab his shoulders, to run down the length of his arms, all so broad and soft. In doing this, her hands found the hem of his undershirt and gently tugged the material upward, before discarding it onto the floor. In its absence, she found his lips again, demanding that the proper attention be served to her own, casting silence on the entire room as the fireplace painted them in a warm orange glow.

Everything, already in a heightened state, quickly escalated. Not even bothering to take off his sweatpants, or to rid Sybil of her underwear, Tom merely pushed the fabric aside and pushed gently inside of her, causing them both to cry out. It had never been like this before, and yet as they moved, they couldn't take their eyes off one another. It was not as sultry as it usually was, both teens usually putting a show on for the other in attempts to distract them from the chaos of the day. At the same time, it was not as slow or as sweet as they imagined it would be if prior to this moment they were honest with themselves and one another about how they truly felt. Still, with that knowledge, and the stifling suspicion that the other did feel the same but also lacked the courage to voice their feelings, Sybil and Tom found an in between, a rhythm of their own, one neither friends nor lovers could understand.

Sometimes Sybil just wanted to say it. She wanted to look up at him while he was inside of her, and state, rather confidently, how she had fallen so in love with him, and that she knew somehow that it would never go away. Her ears craved to hear the same thing, for surely, no man would treat her the way Tom did. It was inconceivable that another person understand her as well as he did, and allow her to be so fully her own woman, loving her through her faults and achievements. It made her wonder if she deserved him, if she was enough or if he loved her and yet wanted more. Tom was always much more open with his feelings. That is, until one day, he wasn't. It was as if he woke up and decided it would be much easier to appear calculated and cold. Their friendship didn't alter, thank god, but their lovemaking did - if you could even call it that. It used to be so playful, and teasing, and overall so fun. Looking back she was silly to think this costume thing would work out. A few months ago, perhaps it may have, but now, there was too much left unsaid for either of them to really enjoy it.

Coming down from their climax, Tom dropped his head to the crook of Sybil's neck in an attempt to catch his breath. She could only smile, loving this vision of him, both of them so close, and his eyes, heavy-lidded and still wanting her so.

"I'm sorry," he muttered again, and Sybil waited, expecting the same words to come again in apology for their sound. "I was too quick. Are you okay?"

Sybil laughed. "Yeah, you?"

"Mhmm," Tom swallowed. "Never been better." He went to move, but Sybil stopped him. He looked to her for an explanation and she simply stared back, her eyelashes moving slowly as she blinked.

"You sure you're okay?"

"What?" Sybil shook her head. "Sorry. Just thinking."

Finally, Tom slipped out of her and rolled onto his back. As he did this, Sybil arched her back and removed her underwear, now laying completely naked next to him. "About?"

She moved so she was laying on her stomach, the mattress she was pressed into covering the swell of her breasts as her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. "Next year. No matter what we do, we're not going to be in the same place anymore."

"Maybe that'll be a good thing," Tom tried. He didn't want to be away from her, but maybe it was best. It was hard to have her so close like this, whenever he wanted, and yet still be unable to call her his own.

Sybil blinked, studying his features. "You think?"

"I mean, you're my best friend, Syb. What do you want me to say? It's not forever. I just think the time might be good for us. Find out who we are without the other person–"

"What if I like who I am with you?" she whispered, her forehead kinking in confusion. What she wanted to voice was her fear that she'd always be this person, wanting and needing him, while he went off and found all of the possibilities for his future and the options he had, beyond the bushy-haired girl he grew up with.

"We won't know until we try, will we?"

Sybil nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Normally the conversation would continue, and they'd laugh, both of them finding something so ridiculous to be funny. Tom was silent though, and the words he didn't say caused Sybil to turn away from him and stare off toward the back window.

He wouldn't tell her this, but he was scared - terrified even. To say something, anything was to admit what Tom already knew: he didn't need to go anywhere to find out who he was or who he wanted to be. They had been doing that all along, in this bed, and hers, and other places too where stolen minutes turned to hours with little trepidation. But without words to seal it, it meant nothing, and Tom needed to go and so did she, if only so they wouldn't end up back here, in love and absolutely hating one another.

* * *

x. Elle


	9. Halloween - Ending 2

***** I replaced the chapter I originally posted with this one. I accidentally posted the same one, like an idiot. That's what I get for naming the files similarly and then posting in haste. So sorry about that! I promise this is different now! :]**

**A/N**: As promised, this is the story I posted last night, with an alternate ending. So if you begin to read and think: "hmm, I've read this before…" - Yes, you have. But after about 1,000 words you'll see it shift. The other 4,000 words or so are completely different, I promise. And perhaps some of you will be a bit happier with this ending…

Happy Halloween, babes! xx

* * *

It was no surprise to anyone that the parties Cora threw were of no interest to Tom. He hated the tight suits, the shiny shoes, and the overall brown-nosing. He disliked the small appetizers and the stuffy liquors and how every guest seemed to have their own agenda, matching their perfectly coiffed hair and fake smiles. This party was no exception, and though for charity, as most of Cora's parties were, he found himself completely averse to the idea of a theme. That is, until Sybil told him of the costume she'd be wearing.

It was almost a year ago when the two were making love, deep in the throws of passion when Tom made a comment about Sybil dressing up. Earlier in the week he had been sick, bedridden with a nasty cold that left his bones aching and his head pounding. Ever the best friend, Sybil spent every moment taking care of him, and when he was better, she nursed him back to health in a different way, one that had him grunting out rather loudly as she collapsed down onto his chest, the two riding the aftermath of their shared orgasm together.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A nurse," Tom stated simply.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "What is it with you boys and your costumes? Will you be dressed up too?"

"No. There's no need. You're going to take care of me. Besides, I'm not talking about anyone else. Just you, Syb."

"Ha!" Sybil let out, then standing up to walk to where she had previously thrown down Tom's shirt. She bent over, giving him a clear view of her backside before covering her upper body with the fabric and getting back into bed. "What's in it for me?"

Tom narrowed his eyes as a cocky smirk overtook his features. "What's ever in it for you?"

Sybil sighed. She thought for a moment, several ideas appearing through her mind forcing her to quickly settle on the one that refused to leave. "Okay. Fine."

Time passed, and Sybil never did bring the costume out. It was too easy to just buy it and wear it one night, to give in that easily without first putting up a bit of a fight. She was sure that Tom had thought she'd forgotten, or perhaps it was he who forgot, not caring how he had her, just as long as she was his, pressed naked and warm into his side night after night.

When it was time to change for her mother's fundraiser Sybil looked into her bedroom mirror and smiled. Her usual kinky curls were pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, covered then by a simple sheet-like head scarf. It matched the starched white apron she wore. The green color of her dress was muted, and Sybil wondered if it was due to several washes or general aging. She rented the frock from a local theatre house in London; the facility was used to dealing with costume designers and seamstresses, not wide-eyed girls with plans to tease their best friends.

It was warm, she knew that now as she descended the steps toward where the party was already in full swing. Seeing Mary standing close to the fireplace, Sybil walked to her, avoiding the glances thrown her way. She was, by far, the youngest girl at this party of mostly middle aged socialites and somehow, the most covered up. Even twenty nine year old Mary stood out, but Sybil found comfort in her sister being nearby especially a tray of champagne passed by and was offered to both women.

"What's with the outfit?" Mary shot out.

Sybil looked down to her own dress before returning her eyes to her sister's costume. Mary's hair was also pulled back, soft pin curls framing her face. She wore a thick black headscarf, matching the black stockings on her legs. To pull it all together, a dress that looked to be made of pure gold sparkled, catching light whichever way Mary turned.

"It's a long story," she sighed, suddenly regretting her decision. She did feel entirely out of place in such a heavy period piece. Something like this would be funny if Mary knew the whole story but Sybil wasn't ready for that yet, and she certainly wasn't ready for anyone to discover what she had planned for later, maybe not even Tom.

"You look nice though," Sybil tried, hoping to change the subject. "The flapper look suits you."

"I'm Daisy Buchanan," Mary said with a small laugh before striking a pose, her cigarette holder pointed high in the air. "Matthew's around here somewhere. The most dapper Gatsby if there ever was one..."

Sybil merely quirked her eyebrows. "And what's Max?"

Mary sighed. "We tried to get him to match our theme but he decided he didn't want to dress up. Isobel has taken him to the museum. There's a spooky stargazing event at the planetarium tonight."

"Ahhh," Sybil nodded in understanding, suddenly wishing she was accompanying her nephew in watching the sky.

Behind them, Matthew walked over, and with him, Tom, dressed plainly in a pair of jeans, a button up, and a sports jacket. The outfit was complete with his signature Chuck Taylor's and his hair, just a bit more shaggy than usual.

With an arm crossed over her waist, Mary sipped at her glass of champagne and then leaned into Tom. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Matthew laughed. "I asked him the same thing."

Tom said nothing. His eyes were still trained on Sybil and all the fabric covering her body.

"Tom?" she whispered, pulling him out of his reverie.

He picked his head up and looked around. "What?"

Sybil giggled. "Mary asked what your costume was."

"Oh, uh, Blane McDonnagh."

Mary nearly spit her champagne out. "Like from _Pretty in Pink_?"

"I was lazy, alright? And your mum wouldn't let me skip this one."

"Why is that so funny?" Sybil spat. "I don't want to be here either."

"It's not funny," Matthew interfered, speaking for his wife who was still chuckling behind her satin glove covered hand.

"I'd have pegged you as more of a Duckie, that's all," Mary said, causing herself to laugh once again.

"C'mon, Tom, let's go get a drink before we're forced to socialize."

Boldly, Sybil grabbed Tom's hand and lead them away from Mary and Matthew. Mary was always well-intentioned and when Sybil told anyone about her, she first assured them of this. She never wished to be cruel or biting, it was just in her nature to tease. In particular, she always had fun with Tom, a habit she picked up ever since the boy first moved in to Downton after his mother's passing. Sybil knew it could be worse; she could have ignored him or been downright mean, but instead she made fun, using what she believed against him. What made it worse was that Tom, a boy who constantly seemed to be so unaffected by the world, actually let it get to him. In doing so, he only acknowledged what Mary thought to be true: he was hopelessly in love with Sybil.

With her hand still grasping Tom's, the two came to a stop, standing at the end of the line for the bar. "What's with the costume?" Tom leaned in and asked.

Sybil's cheeks, already a simple pink, deepened in their shade. "It was supposed to be a joke. You were supposed to be enraged and shocked," she offered. "I know what you were expecting…"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What was I expecting?"

"The typical nurse's halloween costume. The tights, the tits, the skirt…" Sybil's voice trailed off again as she watched Tom, his mouth pulling into a small smirk as he listened to her recount the outfit he already had in his head. Upon realizing this, she nudged at his shoulder with both hands, ridding his body of the laughter it was already containing. "Okay, you know what, I'm not going to come to my parent's party dressed like that, alright?"

"No," Tom began, his tongue pressed tightly into his cheek, "I wouldn't want that."

"You don't own me!" Sybil whispered. "You don't own what we do!"

"Syb, Syb," Tom tried, reaching out to grab for each wrist. "Calm down, alright? Someone will hear you."

Sybil straightened up and turned back so that she was no longer facing Tom, but instead the back of an elderly man's head. He leaned in to her again. "You look really nice, actually."

Sybil looked to him and smiled. "You too. A bit like Jonathan, actually," she said, and it was Tom who pinched her side, causing her to yelp as she moved to escape his advances. Nearby, Cora and Robert shot the two a disapproving look, causing them to momentarily settle down before letting out several short bursts of laughter.

Stepping up again in line, Sybil leaned back in to Tom. "I would have been your Andie, you know."

Another step forward and it was Tom's turn. "Hey," he started - he just wanted to hear Sybil say it. "What do you think Mary meant about that Duckie comment?"

Sybil sighed. "It was a comment on you being poor, now c'mon, I want a drink and then we're hitting the food table, and then we're going upstairs to watch zombie films."

"Is that an order?"

Sybil stepped forward and gave the girl behind the bar her preferred beverage. Tom did the same, and when he turned back to Sybil, she merely nodded.

"Best friend's order," she assured.

Their plan didn't come to fruition right away. After the bar, the two made a detour for the buffet, where Sybil rolled her eyes at all of the unsatisfactory options. They were merely things to put in her mouth to distract her brain into thinking it was eating, she told Tom, causing him to drop his head back and laugh as he pressed a hand to his chest. From there, Mrs. Eaton stopped Sybil, asking about her upcoming college plans, and when her next ballet recital was. When Tom was distracted by a local businessman who used to be friends with his mother, Sybil found herself occupying her time with a rather bland conversation with Jonathan Ashford. It seemed as it the two, her and Tom, could not get on the same page. When one exhausting social conversation would end, the other would be on to the next, until finally, Tom was able to steal away and upon looking around, could not find Sybil.

Seeing Edith and Anthony across the room, he went to them, and before he could even say anything, Edith assured him that they hadn't seen her.

"She was talking to that Ashford boy a few moments ago," Anthony said innocently, unaware of the tension he was causing.

Edith, also none the wiser, leaned in to Tom. "She's probably gone to her room already. Mama and Papa are so busy greeting guests, she's most likely taken advantage of the situation and gone upstairs."

Tom nodded, liking this explanation much more than the previous one he was given. Not wanting to be rude, he asked Edith and Anthony how they were. Both adults gave him short responses, understanding his mind was elsewhere, though never acknowledging why that was always so.

At the top of the stairs, Tom took a sharp right and headed down the hall toward Sybil's bedroom. He could see that the light was on, and he hesitated as his mind created images he didn't wish to see. He didn't know why he was so hung up on Sybil and Jonathan. Several times, even before they ever slept together, Sybil told Tom how dumb Jonathan was. Actually, she almost said it too much, as if she was not only dismissing Jonathan, but asking Tom to want her more. At the end of the day, he didn't truly believe that Sybil would ever go for Jonathan, but if she didn't, and it really was just the two of them, why couldn't she admit how she really felt? If this wasn't just about sex, and something to distract them from the cruelties of the world, what was it? And why wasn't it more?

Walking toward Sybil's room, Tom stopped and shrugged out of his sport's coat. The jacket, usually reserved for Sunday mass or brunch events Sybil dragged him to, was beginning to restrict his movements. To take it off was to return to his normal state, with less inhibitions and a much stronger sense of self.

Looking up, he saw Sybil's door open, and she appeared, quickly, and wearing much less than she was before, her hair also taken down, curling around her face as she shot him a sly smile. "Took you long enough."

"Jesus Christ…" Tom breathed out. He blinked, hard, in an attempt for the picture in front of him to clear up, or change completely. Nothing came of it, only a better view of Sybil, her body clearly naked beneath the thin, tight fabric of her skimpy nurse's costume. She stood so that she was leaning against the door, her arm stretched up, spanning the outline of the wood where her head also rested, causing her feet beneath her to look as if they were barely holding her up. Already she had bedroom eyes and Tom swallowed as he walked to her.

Watching his trajectory, Sybil backed up, causing the door to shut slightly, but not enough to block their view of one another. Another pace, and Tom was moving quickly, picking Sybil up, her body conforming to his own as her feet were lifted from the ground. He kept a tight grip on her with one hand and shut her bedroom door with the other, then walked them to the bed where he gently set her down, his body following as the two were now attached at the lips.

"Fucking Christ, Syb…" Tom muttered, his hands exploring her thighs and bare hips beneath the cotton material of the costume. "So beautiful."

Sybil giggled, and then cooed, as his cold hands made contact with her center, lubricating themselves with her already wet heat before pushing inside. It was all she wanted, for him to adore her, but just as he was finding her favorite rhythm, Tom withdrew his hands and licked them before moving back up to cup her cheeks and capture her lips.

Pulling away, but with both hands still on Tom's face, Sybil looked up to him, staring at the way his blue eyes looked so dark in this light and how his hair was no longer pushed back, but messy due to their quick, lustful movements. "Is it all you hoped it would be?"

"Honestly?" Tom asked, looking away for just a moment. He returned his attention to her and smiled. "Now I just want to take it off."

Sybil smiled back. "Whatever you want."

In acceptance of her offer, Tom's hands immediately went to the middle of her dress where all the buttons lay, spaced out perfectly, their crimson shade contrasting with the bright white fabric, and beneath it, Sybil's pale complexion just waiting to be touched.

"God Syb," Tom began. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Me or this?"

"All of it." And then he kissed her mouth, sliding his tongue past her lips, causing her to reciprocate and momentarily get lost in the sensation of having him this close while still grappling with the idea that she needed him closer.

With flat palms, Sybil gently pushed at Tom's chest, causing them to break apart. Again, she smiled, this time allowing her eyes to follow the path of her hands, working the buttons of Tom's shirt which led her to the belt of his jeans. Touching the leather, she looked up to him. He was standing now, and with her sitting on the edge of the bed, they were in a place they'd been so many times before. He didn't want that now though. And he told her, whispering into her ear, his voice ever so husky as he cupped her face: "I need to be inside of you."

Hearing this, Sybil stood up, but only after she pushed Tom's jeans down his legs. He kicked the denim off, leaving him standing before her in his briefs, and his open button-down shirt. As Sybil began to shrug out of the nurse's uniform, Tom could only stare, watching as her ribcage before more prominent the more she breathed in and out. In moment like this she looked so frail, but he saw her strength and loved her body, all of it, no matter how it was, and he planned on showing her, starting in the way he grabbed ahold of her hips and brought her close, causing her to grind up against him while she rid him of his shirt.

Now, with almost no restraints existing between them, Tom leaned down to nip at Sybil's neck, sucking, then lapping at the soon to be purple skin with his tongue. "If you marked me, I swear to god…"

Tom could only smile, before kissing her, then moving down again, this time taking a pert nipple in his mouth. Due to Sybil's dancing, her chest, like the rest of her body, was small, but Tom liked it this way. What was important was that she was his and though he'd never say that to her out of fear of her calling him possessive, he knew she knew this, and she told him once, rather lovingly how lucky she was to have someone so fine make her feel worthy.

Loving the sensation, Sybil's hands were distracted, falling from the waistband of Tom's briefs. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he hoisted her up, holding all of her weight in his hands as he then turned them around, pressing her back into the wall. She hissed out of excitement, the pressure of the cool texture behind her doing nothing to calm her down. Sloppily, they were kissing again and Tom's hands tangled in her hair as Sybil tightened the grip her legs had around his waist, digging into the dimples of his back.

"We haven't done it like this in awhile," Sybil said, her hands already reaching down to free him from the constraint of his underwear.

"Do you want it on the bed?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, just like this," she said, now guiding him toward her center. It was slow at first, but then all of him was inside of her, filling her deeply, making her feel whole.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhit," Sybil cried out, digging her fingernails into his back. There was nothing soft about their movements now, and Sybil only urged Tom on, meeting him thrust for thrust, their lips brushing as they both did their best to maintain focus and steady breathing.

At this angle, Sybil dropped one of her arms from around Tom's neck and used her free hand to play with herself. It was a sight Tom would never get over, and he found himself bucking involuntarily the more her delicate, manicured fingers, touched her most sensitive spot.

"Fuck, Syb. You know what that does to me…"

"Yeah?" she tried, her breathing still so ragged. She was close too, and she had a feeling it would be his words, and not his body, that would eventually push her over the edge. "Tell me," she whispered, her lips now dangerously close to his ear.

"I lo—" He began, but soon stopped himself. "You're so beautiful, Syb. You know that, right?"

She nodded, a coy smile playing its way across her face. "I've been told a time or two."

"Unnnghhhh!" he grunted, filling her to the hilt in one, long, hard thrust upward. A soft moan escaped her lips and Sybil found her hands seeking him out again, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders as she continued to ride him. "So hot…" he mumbled, continuing his motions.

Soon enough Sybil's lips found his again, and hungrily, as if satiation was impossible, the two nipped at one another. In any other moment it would have been sloppy, and anywhere, it was most certainly filled with haste, but it was like this sometimes and necessarily so, as each rough session of lovemaking drew a more distinct boundary line between them.

Staring at one another, Sybil leaned in and kissed Tom again. It was something she could never get enough of, how soft his lips were, and how good he tasted, moving them against her own. A soft sigh was constantly escaping her mouth every time he pulled away, and he, forever cocky, loved the power he had to mollify her, usually with another kiss.

It was too much now though, and it was taking him all he had to hold on, waiting for her usual change in breathing to signal that she was also close. Once, a long time ago, Tom had deeply offended Sybil by releasing before she was ready. Naked, and almost in tears, she kicked him out of bed and refused to speak to him. It was the closest to a cease fire the two had ever come, and though Sybil felt bad and realized she may have overreacted, she didn't dare apologize.

Instead, it was Tom who felt awful, and he told her this as he held her, and kissed her hairline, before going down on her, slowly and with the perfect rhythm that had her crying out as she nearly soaked the sheets and laughed through a beautiful orgasm, her hand pressed lightly to her mouth in happy surprise.

They had grown a lot since then. Her immaturity and his had dropped off long ago, replaced as their bodies changed and their hearts and minds grew even more fond of one another. Here, Sybil watched Tom's concentration and the way the grip he had on her bum was tightening. She knew he was close and she wanted him to let go. She knew now that there was nothing selfish about it, and though she absolutely hated his orgasm face, it would always be one of her favorite parts of him as well and she hoped to god she'd be the only one to ever see it.

"Let go, Tom," Sybil whispered, her own voice raspy but laced with good intention.

"No way," he assured through bated breath. "Are you close?"

"Mhmm," she nodded quickly, her eyes currently trained downward, studying the point where their bodies were colliding.

"How close?" And then: "Tell me, Syb."

But she couldn't. And her silence said more than words ever could as she bit down, and he grunted, a cacophonous melody of sounds as both of their bodies finally released.

"Oh my god," Sybil whispered afterward. "It hasn't been that good in awhile has it?"

"I mean, it's been good," Tom tried, still out of breath, "but no, it hasn't been that good in awhile," he agreed before offering up his lips for a kiss. Graciously Sybil accepted, before nudging him backward toward the bed.

Together, the two fell back, Tom sitting and with Sybil still in his lap. In the aftermath of her climax, Sybil got what Tom called "kiss-happy", and just as she usually did, her lips were all over him, nippling at his earlobe, kissing his neck, or marking his collarbone. If they weren't so tired, he may have allowed it to go further, but eventually it ended with both of them on their backs, and the throw from the trunk at the foot of Sybil's bed, covering them up.

At one point, Sybil sat up, and Tom rolled over, earning him a swift slap to the bum from his best friend. He smiled, and she smiled back before popping a candy from the bowl on her bedside table, into her mouth. She offered him one but he declined, and as she chewed, she reached out, her fingers inspecting the damage her body had done to him.

"Shit, Tom, I'm sorry…"

"What's up?" he asked, trying to look over his shoulder to where she was touching his skin.

"Don't walk around shirtless, okay?"

Tom nodded and let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, I'll try to cut that one out of my daily to-do," he deadpanned, earning him another swat to the rear, this time with a pillow. "Whatever. Maybe the guys in PE will stop calling me a fag and think I've finally got some."

"Finally," Sybil deadpanned before popping another candy in her mouth. "Or, they'll think you've fucked a guy."

Tom looked to Sybil and laughed, his mind having already dismissed her joke. "Hey, good work," he said, offering her his fist.

She nodded and bumped it. "You too." And then: "You wanna go for round two soon? I need a shower."

Tom's eyes perked up. "I'm ready when you are."

"Can we try something though?"

Tom nodded. "Sure, what?"

"Take me from behind?"

As she said the words, Sybil was already shying out of bed, slowly taking the blanket that was covering them with her, until finally she ripped it off completely leaving a very naked Tom exposed on the center of the mattress. She cackled at the sight and he jumped up, his arms seeking her out as his feet followed her into the bathroom, where he had her once, then three more times, the two eventually passing out in the vanity area in between with the same small throw covering up the naked silhouette of Sybil cocooned into Tom.

* * *

x. Elle


	10. Little Ballerina

I love the juxtaposition of Sybil's body as a ballerina and her body when she's with Tom and how these are two incredibly important (and distinguishing) elements in understanding what makes our favorite Crawley girl tick. It is also important to note that this theme will be revisited extensively now that Sybil is pregnant…

* * *

The first thing Sybil ever told Tom was that her body was not his.

"On some days," she said, "I don't even think it belongs to me anymore."

Long ago she surrendered to the art of dance, and not once since then had she ever looked back. She enjoyed the pain, or it was at the very least, tolerable. The applause was fine too; it didn't help her to sleep better at night or to validate her character, but it was nice all the same. But Sybil danced because it gave her life, and it made breathing easier the more she believed she could fly. It was dependent on no one, just her own give and take. If she let anyone down, it was herself and she didn't dare do that anymore. It was just far easier not to.

Making love was the only movement she did without inhibition. Everything else, from her posture, to the way she descended a staircase was all very calculated, but with Tom she found the ability to let go. He did not judge her the way others did, constantly asking her to perfect and control her legs and arm placement. Their sex life was not about that, and Tom found the less he asked of her, the more she would give. For once it was not about her, and she enjoyed that part of it all, shown most clearly in the way she loved his body, up and down, night after night, without ever asking for anything in return. Of course Tom reciprocated, but he did so as to not praise. He was appreciative and forever grateful for the love she gave him, and his aim was to always give her that and so much more in return.

It was why he loved her hair so much. All her life she was told to pull it back, first by her parents then later, for ballet rehearsals. The taut nature of her buns and ponytails caused her usually messy waves to straighten out. Things like hairspray and bobby pins helped the process. She was meant then to look like all the other girls. Only her limbs, specifically her legs and feet, were to be treasured, and the rest of her, the beauty in the freckles on her arms or the way her collarbones were perfect symmetrical, were left to him to praise, and he did.

Taking her hair down each night or afternoon was a freeing experience, and he loved the way she would brush through the tangles, creating frizz and disorder on her own time. Carefully, she would rake her fingers through her tresses, doing her best to separate the otherwise sticky strands. It didn't stay down long, or if it did, it was put into a braid, leaving just the ends to curl below their knot. On days where she didn't have to immediately put her hair up, Sybil would blow dry the roots, then leave the rest to air dry. Lazy summer days were spent naked in bed, and for reasons Tom could never quite grasp, she allowed him to run his fingers through her hair, leading down to her back where he'd then run his finger along the length of her spine.

Sybil was different from the other girls, but when Tom would comment on it, she'd brush it off. Her aim was to fit in, so when he told her he enjoyed her during a special corps number, Sybil would blush and take it as an insult, when really, Tom's intention was the exact opposite. She was though, especially in the way she ate, and exercised outside of class - or didn't.

The Crawley women are all notoriously thin, and Sybil, the shortest of the three of them, was always petite. It made Tom wonder what she'd look like without all the dancing. She was self-conscious of her chest, sure, and always wanted her breasts to be larger, but she liked the slim-line of her hips, though compared to the other girls she was a bit wider in that area. Tom wondered if she'd learn to love her body without him, until one day she told him without him having to ask.

"Thank you," she said. When Tom furrowed his brow in confusion, she elaborated: "Thank you for loving me."

"It's not that hard," he replied.

To which Sybil said: "I agree." And she smiled, and he smiled back, the two realizing what they were really discussing only after the conversation was long gone, replaced by slow kisses, and later, a nap, their bodies intermingled beneath the worn duvet on Sybil's bed.

* * *

x. Elle


	11. Mrs Branson

As I said on tumblr, this is certainly not the happiest missing moment I've ever written. Still, I've left a large gap in the relationship not only between Tom and his mother (that part was a bit intentional as we've now seen) but also in the relationship between Mrs. Branson and Sybil. Especially now that Sybil's parents have essentially written her off, it's interesting to think of how Mrs. Branson would react to the news of Sybil and Tom's pregnancy. We'll never know that and this is not that moment. But it's an insight into how important Mrs. Branson was, not only to Tom, but to Sybil as well.

* * *

Upon entering the room, the first thing Sybil noticed was the beeping of Helen's heart monitor. The last time they were here, when they were leaving, Tom pointed out that the longer you were in the room, the easier it was to forget and Sybil unfortunately found herself wishing this mindset existed for other things in the world too, like the unfair loss of parents at a young age.

That was a week ago, just before her last chemotherapy treatment was administered. Since then, her body had fallen into a coma, the result of sepsis, directly caused by the same medication that was meant to cure her.

Tom corrected Sybil on this front as well. "It's killing her," he said, fighting back tears. "You get that, don't you? That's what chemo does. It destroys you."

"Some people get better after, Tom. If they didn't, the doctors wouldn't turn to it for treatment."

He only shook his head and walked away, leaving Sybil alone at the end of a hospital wing, much like this one.

Two weeks ago, Helen had been given her own room. It was ironic, Tom said, because he was sure they were going to send her home. Always the optimist, she corrected her son, telling him that she would get better and she'd be home soon enough. Like all of the other hopeful sentiments given to him since his mother's diagnosis, Tom disregarded this one as well. "She'll die in that room, Syb," he said later that night, finally breaking down as Sybil held him, cradling his usually broad frame into her much smaller one. She wished her arms were larger or her heart was bigger. Fourteen year olds aren't meant to feel this much, she was sure.

His declaration, one that had her crying herself to sleep long after Tom had passed out, was what brought Sybil to the hospital alone. She skipped ballet rehearsal, not caring for once in her life to even call and say she couldn't make it. She also didn't tell Tom. She was sure he'd tell her she didn't have to go alone, and Sybil wasn't brave enough to hold her thoughts back and keep herself from telling him that he had left her by herself too much lately while he ignored the pain.

There was a chair near Helen's bedside. Like all of the other rooms in this wing, the units were a cheery yellow color, with drapes that had to have been at least twenty years old. A tray hovered above Helen's feet near the end of the bed, and a small end table sat beside it. On it, a pitcher of flowers Tom had brought just two days ago, the water already turning green as a few petals coated the lace dolly beneath its vase.

Sybil stood in front of the chair and sighed, using the exhale to propel her into a slow seated position where she gently placed her rucksack by her feet. She sat with her toes on the ground, keeping her knees bent and her back straight. Her hands were beneath her, and every once in awhile she'd look around, unsure of how to begin all of this, as if the clock on the wall or the radio near Helen's head would give indication.

"I don't know if you can hear me. The doctors told Tom you're on a lot of medication, and that's fine. We just need you to get better, okay?" Another sigh, and then Sybil continued. "I can't do it alone, Helen. This is going to kill Tom and I'm not strong enough to save him. He's that person for me and I just don't know if I can be that person for him. So he needs you, okay?"

Sybil stopped. Her attention was focused down to her lap where she was picking at the already chipping nail polish on the nail of her thumb. Her forehead was creased in concentration, hiding the much deeper pain currently wanting to bubble out of her throat as it also painted her cheeks in steady streams of wetness.

"He, uh, he's finding it hard to believe, you know? He didn't go to mass this weekend and I know that would probably break your heart to hear, but he can't do it without you. I offered to go and I really wanted to but when I knocked on his door he wasn't even out of bed yet...and you know how he's always up so early."

"He told me he's having a really hard time believing there's a god or some greater power when you're like this. Which I get. If someone with power greater than anything we're capable of exists, why are you sick? I mean, I didn't know Mr. Branson but from what Tom says, he was kind and I can't say I blame Tom for doubting it all. First his father and now you? So you have to promise me you won't go anywhere. He needs you and I need him so you have to hold on for just a little while longer."

Sybil exhaled and looked to the door. Part of her expected a nurse, or even Tom to come in and ask what she was doing. This was also a wish she had, so this conversation didn't have to continue. Bitterly, she wished for it that much harder, as she blinked, keeping her eyes shut tight enough to force a single tear out of her left eye, while the other pooled with sadness, threatening to do the same.

"You can't leave him. I'm not even asking at this point, I'm begging. I know that's selfish, but I don't care! I'm being selfish. And I don't think this is such a bad thing to be selfish about. This isn't fair, Helen. I'm not mad at you...I'm just mad. Tom's mad too, you know? But he's better at hiding it than I am."

A heavy, unsteady breath brushed past Sybil's pouted lips. She was still crying, but less so now and her glances to the door or the clock had stopped. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't know what my purpose in coming here was. This isn't helping. You can't hear me. Tom will never hear me," she offered with an extended hand. "I just can't see him give up, you know? Your son means the world to me...he's my world, you know? And he doesn't deserve this. I guess if it was up to you, you'd live forever. Or at least long enough to see him grow up...get married, have lots of babies," Sybil added with a laugh, now wiping away a few offending tears as if somehow feeling ridiculous for allowing them to fall in the first place.

"He deserves to have you around. Maybe he'll be fine. Maybe this is me asking for me...because I won't be fine. I can't see him like that. I'm not strong enough or brave enough or good enough to give him what you give him. And he deserves all of those things. Basically what I'm saying is that you have to wake up, okay? I'm not giving you a choice. You're strong and you're going to get through this and you have to wake up..."

Helen did wake up.

A week later, after feeling the best she had since starting chemotherapy, she passed away quietly.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	12. Wet

"Sybil, I'm serious—"

She blinked. "Why do you call me by my full name when we're like this? Stop it," she whispered. "I hate it."

"You hate it?" he asked. "Anything else before we're done?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is me letting you fuck me an inconvenience? Because I can go…" Tom rolled his eyes and Sybil just laughed. Such conversations, she was sure, were not supposed to happen like this in moments of intimate bliss.

"I'm serious," she warned. "Now slow down and enjoy this with me, okay?"

Tom shook his head and looked down to where they were still connected. At a steady pace, he was pumping in and out of her, her legs folded in toward herself, with her ankles draped casually over his shoulders.

"You're not even trying…" Sybil began.

Tom's eyes widened, and in one fluid motion, thrust quickly, filled her to the hilt, causing her to cry out.

Then: "The angle isn't right" she conceded as she did her best to regain all semblance of composure.

"This worked great last night," Tom reminded. "In fact, my back still fucking hurts from where you bit me, you animal."

"You love it," Sybil barked back, a wry grin spreading across her face. "You know, why can't guys admit sometimes you're just more talented with your fingers?"

"We'll do that when girls shut up during sex."

"No," Sybil started in quickly. "That's the problem. You all just like to concentrate on your dicks and how it feels for you."

"Um, excuse me, I think I'm very fair in that aspect."

Sybil sat slack jawed, as if to express disinterest in what he was saying. Tom could only laugh, and Sybil joined him only after he pointed out their conversation was rather funny considering neither had ever slept with anyone else.

But then, as Tom fell back into a rhythm, Sybil reached out to touch his shoulders.

"No?" he asked.

"No, _yes_," Sybil clarified.

"Yeah?" Tom teased, loving the look on her face when he finally got her to that point, and it was clear now in the way she shut her eyes and dug her nails into the taut skin of his bicep that she was certainly close.

"Jesus Christ, Tom, _right there_…"

He leaned down to kiss her, and hungrily their lips seized upon one anothers, tasting as hands touched, up and down the span of arms and shoulders. At one point, Tom broke away, the sensation making him dizzy. His eyelids, already so heavy, fluttered as he dropped his forehead down to hers to concentrate. Seeing him like this only turned her on more, and she passionately grabbed him by the back of the neck and demanded another kiss, one he gave after she convinced him it would only work to heighten things further.

"Did you hear that?"

"No," Sybil mumbled. "C'mon, I'm…" A wave washed over her as the pressure in her abdomen grew.

"Syb, your dad—"

What she said next distracted Tom, or rather, made him forget about the distraction coming up the steps. "Good," she said, her voice sounding rather sweet. "Let him hear us."

Tom wanted to stop, and he was certain that any other time, he would have. In fact, it was easy for them to stop just a few days before when Robert, right around this time, returned home early from work. Then, Tom's hand had only made its way up Sybil's shirt and as she went to greet her father, he put his own Henley back on. This was different though. There was a bond here that could not be broken, and it was Sybil's words, so gentle and soft, that had him roughly pounding into her.

When he finally released, Tom felt himself unload inside of Sybil, causing her reactionary lazy smile to spread across her cheeks. She felt dirty the first time she told him, but it was one of her favorite feelings in the world, and she enjoyed how it was only her who got to see him like this, so content after a moment so private. Lost in the tingle in his spine, or the exhaustion now sweeping over all of him, Tom didn't hear her cry out. Now, with her still underneath him, he kissed Sybil's nose and watched as she dropped her legs down, exposing herself more fully to him.

"Sybil?" Robert's voice bellowed from outside her bedroom door. "Are you okay?"

No longer so entranced by what she had just experienced with her best friend, Sybil's eyes flew open, darting quickly to the door, then back to Tom. "Yeah?" she called out.

"Open this door right now."

"I'm busy."

"Sybil! Right now!"

Tom sighed and went to roll off of Sybil, but she stopped him, first reaching up to give him a proper slow kiss, one they unfortunately found themselves lost in again. Her sigh came next, much louder and heavier than his own, as the cool crept in between her legs, marking where he just was.

"Here," Tom whispered, throwing her his flannel shirt from the end of the bed. He expected her to wear the shirt, and her pants from dance, but Sybil merely threw the flannel on and buttoned it, making no bother with pants or even underwear as she walked toward her bedroom door.

When she opened it, Tom thanked the layout of Sybil's room for keeping him hidden from Robert's view. From his position at the door, and Tom knew this because he had studied it many times before, Robert could only see the corner of the bed where the sheet was beginning to come loose from the mattress.

"Sybil, what are all of these charges on your credit card?" he asked, holding the folded up pieces of paper in his hand. "MTA, Amtrak...did you go into New York when you were visiting your grandmother in Boston?"

Sybil could only nod. "Tom and I wanted to see a show," she lied.

"And you didn't think to ask me? These are frivolous charges!"

Sybil shrugged. "Sorry…" Her voice trailed off as she thought of something else to say. In all honesty, she wasn't sorry - not even a little. "Tom paid for himself."

"Yes, Sybil, because Tom has a job. You know, you can't go spending money as you please, do you understand me? I don't work hard for you to waste money on shows."

"It was the New York City Ballet. It was lovely, thank you for asking," Sybil said curtly, causing Tom to roll over into her pillow and chuckle.

Robert was fuming now, and Tom could tell in the way the shadow behind the door moved, signaling his pacing. "I'm calling your grandmother and speaking to her about this. And I will tell your mother. You can't continue to take advantage of what we give you. You're going to be out on your own next year and you'll see."

"Whatever."

"Sybil!" Robert roared. "Please watch how you speak to me." Another roll of her eyes and Robert breathed out, deciding where to go from here. "Where is Tom?"

Sybil shrugged. "I just got home from dance. He's not in his room?" Robert shook his head. "Maybe he's gone for a run. He's very fit, you know."

Robert sighed. "Stop that," he dismissed. "And where are your pants?"

Sybil looked down. "I told you I was busy...getting changed," she finished. "I was just about to hop into the shower when you knocked."

"Fine," Robert stated; all attempts to control were long gone. "Dinner is at 7. If you see Tom, will you tell him?"

"Sure, Papa."

Sybil smiled and shut the door. Behind her, Tom was laughing and in seeing this she sauntered over to the bed and crawled atop it, ending so that she was straddling Tom's waist.

"Dinner's at 7," she teased, knowing full well that he heard not only that, but everything else exchanged between her and her father. "What's so funny?"

Tom continued to laugh. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do," she offered up, nodding, the cheery nature of her voice transitioning to her facial expressions. "What is it?"

Tom dropped his hands down from his face and stated quite plainly: "You've got a bit of...there's some of my...on your leg," he tried to explain.

"What?" Sybil tried, her mouth dropping open as her eyes studied him. No longer needing his words, she turned around and saw exactly what he was referring to. Seeing it, she merely smiled, and what she did next had Tom growing hard beneath her.

With her finger, Sybil swiped at her skin, collecting the drip of ejaculation running down her thigh. Without thought, she brought it to her lips to taste, and Tom, already hard, nearly moaned at the sight of her taking her petite finger inside her mouth.

"Jesus fecking Christ," he whispered.

Proud of herself, Sybil leaned down, causing Tom's shirt to fall open as she pressed her chest against his. Smiling, she offered her lips to her best friend, and he kissed them, chastely at first, then with much more fervor.

"We have an hour before dinner. Wanna go again?"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Sybil ground down against Tom, running her center over the bedsheet covering his erect member. "I don't know," she sing-songed. "You seem to…"

Incensed, Tom grabbed Sybil by the wrists and turned them over, pinning her to the mattress so he could kiss her face. His lips were everywhere, and she deflected his advances, neither noticing how innocent something like this looked, their naked limbs flailing about in an attempt to retreat, all the while, bringing them that much closer. Their laughter had them both panting, and then once again, it was turned to something else. Sybil was on top this time, riding Tom ever so slowly, contrasting with the rough, fast nature of their previous lovemaking. This time, Tom's rocking stilled Sybil's lips, and the two nearly collapsed into one another when their separate climaxes finally hit. There was no room for talking, or complaints. Even the teasing ceased, and when Robert knocked on Sybil's door, telling her he and Cora were heading down to dinner, they laughed, both wondering where it was the time ever went.

* * *

x. Elle


	13. Picnics and Bed Making

"Tom Branson! You were supposed to meet me at the park nearly twenty minutes ago!"

Helen Branson, Tom's mother, appeared in the hallway leading in from the back door where she was sure Sybil had parked her bike. In the young girl's hand, a small picnic basket. Helen stopped what she was doing and presented herself to Sybil, her hand on her hip still gripping the dishrag she was just using to wipe down the countertops in the kitchen. Her presence caused Sybil to stop as well, and a smile spread across the girls features. "Hi Mama B, where's Tom?"

Helen chuckled. Not only had her best friend's son just entered their home without permission (something Tom was known to do at Downton, as well) but she had also now walked past her, heading for the kitchen so she could put her things down. "We were supposed to have a picnic in the park."

"A picnic?" Helen asked, her voice sing-songing, wondering what it was that possessed two twelve year olds to spend the late days of Summer hidden beneath the trees in the village park. "Tom's cleaning his room."

"Well is he almost done? I prepared a basket of things and I'd hate for it to spoil."

Another chuckle from Mrs. Branson as she now walked back to the kitchen. This prompted Sybil to take a seat at the counter, with her picnic basket right in front of her.

"You prepared it or Mrs. Patmore prepared it?"

Sybil blushed. "I helped!" she offered as Helen now returned her attention to the oven where it was clear that that night's dinner was already cooking. "Besides, Tom made fun of me last time I made sandwiches so I told him I'd get him the good stuff."

"The good stuff, huh? What is the good stuff?"

"Quiches, and sweet tea, and then cookies and milk for later."

Helen leaned forward on the counter. "And my son requested this?"

"He did!" Sybil nodded.

"And you listened to him because?"

"Because he's my best friend," she returned sweetly. Her voice and the smile she wore now were so genuine that Helen had to look away. "And besides, his birthday is coming up and I've been rehearsing a lot lately. He also let me borrow a book." Then, Sybil shrugged and looked back up to Helen, unsure of when it was that her gaze fell in the first place. "Do we need a reason to have a picnic?"

Helen shook her head. "No, I suppose not. I just don't like Tom taking advantage of your family's good charity—"

"He's not. I wanted all of the food too," she assured. "Is he almost done?"

Helen sighed. "I'm afraid not. His room is a mess."

"Well can he finish when we get back?"

"No, Sybil, he can't."

Sybil sighed. As she did, she dropped her head down to her arm, thinking of a way around all of this. "Can I go see him?"

Helen raised her eyebrows, also thinking. "Yes." Most mothers, she thought, would advise the girl not to distract her son, but instead: "Do not help him, Sybil."

Sybil was already on her feet, walking toward Tom's bedroom. She turned and looked over her shoulder and flashed Tom's mother another small smile, one that spoke volumes of mischief, matching the pretty sundress she wore with her old beat up trainers.

At Tom's door, Sybil didn't bother to knock, and instead invited herself in. "Tom Branson, what is the matter with you?" It was the last thing Helen heard before the door was closed. This was Sybil's problem now, and for as much as she should, even at twelve, fight the door being shut (she was constantly worrying about the state of her son's relationship with his best friend, a girl she also loved and cherished) she found solace in leaving them alone like this.

Inside Tom's bedroom, Sybil stepped back, pressing the door into its jamb. It was this that had Tom looking up from where his face was previously hidden in the back of his closet. "Did you know you're supposed to dust?"

Sybil furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she took a step toward him. "Dust what?" she asked, now sitting on the edge of his unmade bed.

"Everything, apparently. My mum says she does it once a week...I had no idea."

"Well if she does it then why do you have to do it?"

"Because I'm a man now, she says. Men dust."

Sybil laughed. "I've never seen my Papa dust."

"I've never seen your dad do anything," Tom deadpanned with an eyeroll before returning his attention to the back of the closet.

Sybil merely shrugged. Her arms were stiff at her sides and her hands lay underneath the smooth skin of the back of her thigh, where in her carelessness, the dress had begun to hike up. It mattered not, as already when it had rained that morning, Sybil had gotten mud on the hem as she ran from one of the back barns to the front of her house. "Good point."

"Are you here to help?"

"Your mum says I can't help. All I can offer you is emotional support," she said, very matter of factly.

Tom stood up from the closet and emptied the dustpan into the trashcan near his desk. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood back to admire his work.

"You still have to make your bed," Sybil offered.

Tom looked down to the sheets crumpled beneath where she sat. "Move your butt then."

Sybil stood but did so with an offended expression. "You move your butt! It's your fault we're not at the park."

"I'm sorry," Tom sing-songed. "I'll be sure to call you on my cell-phone next time," he quipped, referring to the limited feature mobile device Sybil's parents had recently purchased her. It was a point of serious contention for Sybil and Tom, despite Sybil's assurance that it was merely a form of protection when she was constantly needing to be at this ballet studio, or this rehearsal, in such close proximities.

"Don't be rude. You're spoiling the mood," Sybil said, her arms now crossed over her chest.

Tom laughed as he leaned over his bed to begin straightening up the covers. Like her, he always seemed to forget his mother's rule of no shoes in the house, and he looked rather silly trying to navigate his mattress without allowing the soles of his Converse to touch the bed coverings. "The mood?"

"Yes, the mood! Mrs. Patmore made us quiche and that tea blend you like so much! It's a lovely day out…"

"It's just a day in the park, Syb," Tom said calmly as he now jumped down from his bed. He stepped back. "How does that look?"

Sybil looked to the bed and sighed. "Like crap. Guard the door," she said with a huff. "I'll do it."

Tom was confused. He was certain Sybil had never made a bed in her life, and yet he stood back, moving so he was pressed up against the door in an attempt to do just what she had asked. In front of him, paying no mind to her dress or the shoes she wore, Sybil got on her knees and began to fix the bed. To do this, the duvet was stripped from the mattress completely, allowing her to straighten out the sheet and tuck it against the side of the mattress closest to the wall.

Just as Tom had, she jumped down. Quickly, the duvet was grabbed and hoisted up, falling back down to the mattress. This part was easier, and all too quickly, the comforter evenly covered all of the mattress, leaving only the pillows to be added to the top.

Tom performed the latter task, and then with Sybil, stood back to make sure his room was up to standards.

"Do you think she'll let me go now?"

"I just made your bed for you, so I sure hope so!" Sybil sighed out, suddenly out of breath after completing such a basic task.

Tom chuckled at the sight of her. "That was a lot of work, huh?"

"Yeah, it was," Sybil replied. "You try it!" But then: "Oh, wait, you did, and it was awful! Don't sass me, Tom! I won't share any of my food with you."

"You wouldn't dare!" he quipped, and instantly his hands were on her, tickling her sides, causing Sybil to double over into him. As a reaction, Tom bent too, his hands still traveling up and down her sides and around her stomach.

Through all of Sybil's laughter, and Tom's blatant teasing, neither noticed the door behind them opening. "Tom? Sybil?"

They stopped and stood up, both straightening out their appearances at the sight of Helen. "What's going on?"

"Tom's room is clean," Sybil offered with a shrug.

"Did you help?"

"Pshh!" Tom let out. "As if Sybil knows how to do any of this."

Helen merely smiled, watching out of the corner of her eye as Sybil jabbed Tom in the stomach with her elbow. "Looks good, Tom. Alright, off you go."

Sybil beamed, and without asking Tom first, turned to Helen and asked: "Can we have our picnic in here?"

"But why?"

"Yeah, why?" Tom asked, his shoulders slumped.

"Because it's going to rain. Besides. It'd be a waste to not take advantage of all of the floor space you've uncovered."

It was Tom's turn to harass Sybil and he did so by pinching the skin on her arm near her elbow. She yelped, but kept a smile painted on her cheeks as she waited for a reply. Helen shrugged. "I mean, I guess, but we have a table, you know…"

"Oh, I know," Sybil laughed. "But that's not a picnic."

Content with the answer she was given, Sybil quietly dismissed herself and went to go grab the picnic basket from the kitchen. In her absence, Tom looked to his mother, the two sharing knowing smiles.

"She's a weird one, Tom."

"Yeah," he sighed. "She is."

"But she's a good friend. Don't let her go, you hear me?"

Another sigh. "Working on it."

"No," Helen corrected. She was at the door now, and down the hall, Sybil's footsteps could be heard approaching. "I'm serious. She's special...take care of her."

Tom just nodded, no longer wanting to hear this from his mother. "I know, mam." And he did too. He'd know it if she hadn't insisted on making a production out of their planned picnic and he'd know it if she hadn't made his bed. These things though worked to enforce Tom's belief in his best friend. She was special, and quirky, and yes, perhaps even a bit strange — but so was he. They were a good match and she knew absolutely everything about him, and him about her. Yet, on days like this, he found himself surprised, and hoping, just as his mother did, that Sybil would allow him in her life for as long as it took for their to be no more surprises, on a day where he'd finally know all of her.

He hoped that day never came.

* * *

x. Elle


	14. Baby Talk

**A/N****:** This was based off a manip **AngieMagz** made for me. It was also a response to everyone loving Tom talking to Sybil's stomach. Either way, lots more of these parenting moments to come in canon! :]

* * *

It was a routine he always had, one that was most likely moot at this point due to his change in profession. It made sense, of course, for him to shower after work when he was a mechanic. He liked watching the grease and grime cascade off of him and swirl down into the drain in varied shades of grey. Because of this routine, Sybil, who loved to sleep in, would forfeit his morning shower and instead join him for the afternoon one, where she too rid her body of the sweat and hours worked, moving across a sprung floor on her toes, her body stretching and leaping toward perfection. Together, it was a cleansing, but now, just a process, one Tom had yet to give up even when his morning shower with Sybil always proved to be more than satisfactory.

With a towel around his hips, and his hair still damp, Tom opened the door to the bathroom, expecting to be greeted by nothing more than the cold of the bedroom he shared with Sybil. Instead, he saw her, laying flat on the bed, a small plate on her stomach from which she grabbed a carrot and then dipped it in the ranch sauce nearby.

"Hi," she beamed before biting into the vegetable.

Tom laughed. "Hi. Comfortable?"

"I am, actually. I'm sorry I couldn't join you but I was starved."

"That's good," he assured.

"Well it's because my body is finally slowing down, which actually isn't the best, but for the baby, it's good."

Tom moved to the french doors of the closet and stepped inside, grabbing only for a pair of jeans and one of his typical white v-necks. "Syb, your body will return to normal as soon as she's here, you know. And if it's not exactly the same, you'll work until it is. And hey, at least you're eating healthy."

"I actually finished a bag of maltesers on the ride home soooo..."

"Well, baby steps."

"You know what?" Sybil prompted, thinking of junk food and innocence. "We haven't had a movie night in forever…"

Tom furrowed his brows as he now stepped into a pair of jeans and pulled them up over his hips, buttoning the enclosure. Even though he'd be spending the rest of the day at home, a belt was necessary, and he began to loop one around his waist as he thought of what Sybil had just said. "What are you talking about? We watch movies all the time…"

"Noooo," Sybil corrected. "Our movie nights. You know, you bringing the food, and me picking the movie and us falling asleep halfway through—"

"And you waking me up so we can have sex?"

"Yes," Sybil said, a proud grin now on her face. "Exactly."

Tom thought for a moment. "No, I suppose we haven't had one in awhile."

"It's sad, you know? We're really grown ups now."

Tom was dressed now, and craving to be close to Sybil, even closer than he already was. She sensed this too, and momentarily forgetting their conversation, she smiled, hoping he took this as a sign that she was ready for him. A kiss first, then whatever else he would offer. As he approached, she rid her stomach of the now empty plate.

With an extended hand, he leaned down before finally putting all of his weight on the mattress. Though he was much larger than Sybil, always broad and much taller, he seemed to cocoon perfect into her side, pressing a kiss to her neck, then her earlobe, before claiming her lips fully. His hand, of course, was where it always was lately - on the swell of her stomach. He kept his fingers spread, wanting and needed to touch as much of her skin as possible. For some reason, he always had his hand much lower than she ever had her own, and always right in the center of her tummy. Anything else, he said, didn't feel right. "I want her to know I'm here," he told her once.

Pulling away from a last kiss, Tom scooted further down the bed, so he was closer to her stomach and his legs were pointed off the edge of the mattress. Instantly, he did what Sybil thought he'd do, and pressed a slow kiss to her belly. The love and awe at Sybil's once flat stomach, always a favorite of Tom's, did not diminish with her growing size. Instead, that same face he wore when he first saw she was beginning to show was the face he always wore now: wide eyed and happy as he gazed upon Sybil's body in adoration.

"You're obsessed," Sybil commented. It wasn't a complaint. In fact, she loved watching him watch her like this. Tom always loved her body, really and truly enjoyed all of her, each limb and scar and even temporary bruise. Now, there was more to love, and so he did, kissing, caressing, and even speaking to her taut skin.

"I am," he agreed, pressing another peck to her stomach, right near her belly button. "Doesn't this pop out?"

Sybil laughed. "My bellybutton? I think that's if I get big enough."

"If?"

"Well I don't think it happens to everyone. What did your book say?"

"No bellybutton chapters, unfortunately," Tom sighed, causing Sybil to laugh at her boyfriend's easy transition to sarcasm. "Well, none for the mum. They talked about the baby's belly button and how their umbilical cord falls off.'

"Yeah, just shrivels up and falls off."

"Ahh," Tom dramatically let out. "I'm so glad we can have these romantic talks," Tom sassed.

"Really puts me in the mood," Sybil agreed.

The jesting stopped though, or rather, was challenged by Tom raising his eyebrows. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Excuse me?"

"To act as if you're turned off. I mean, Syb, love, you have been rather, insatiable lately."

"Are you complaining?" She asked, her voice deep, and her head tilted down, urging Tom to give the right answer.

"No...no, not at all."

Sybil smirked. "Mhm."

"Hey," Tom said, raising his head again, asking for Sybil's attention. At hearing the genuine tone of his voice, she gave it quite willingly. "Can I ask you something?"

Again, she smirked. "Yes..." she said, almost like a question.

"What changed?"

"What?"

Tom dropped his head down, his eyes closed as he chuckled at Sybil's constant thirst for immediate and accurate information. In seeing this, Sybil blurted out an apology, and seeing Tom smile, she smiled back, hoping she was forgiven. He continued: "You know, you used to say you didn't want to get married or have kids…"

"Maybe I just wanted to do it in the wrong order. So when people asked if I wanted to get married and have kids, I said 'no', because I wanted to have kids and get married…"

Tom didn't falter. "Syb, I'm serious."

Sybil sighed. "What do you want me to say? We've discussed this, haven't we? Commitment is scary—"

"Not every marriage is your parent's marriage."

"No," Sybil shrugged in acceptance. "But why bother? I've told my parents this a million times, it feels. My love for you means more than any certificate or ceremony. I don't need that. We've had a million of those, you know? You're still my best friend after all these years. Isn't that proof enough that we're very, very in love?"

"It is for me. And what about kids?"

"Well aren't they the greatest show of love? I refuse to believe a child will be scarred if their mum and dad didn't have a wedding ceremony. I'll take your name, Tom. I'll take it right now. Sometimes it feels like I've never been Sybil Crawley. I've always been Sybil Branson. I'm yours. We decided that a long time ago…" As her voice trailed off, she looked down. Sybil was all too aware of the shade of her chest and face. She was blushing, but more than that, her skin was warm, a clear sign of the love she had for the man with his hand still on her stomach.

Tom blinked. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"What?" Sybil smiled, her eyes wide.

"That you wanted to take my name. I was sure you'd always keep your own. You know, the whole idea of it. The ownership."

"I don't look at it that way. Maybe I should. But I want the world to know. I love that I'm starting to show and I don't care if people dislike that I'm not wearing a ring to complete the picture. I'd walk around like this," she said, gesturing to her stomach where Tom's hands were pushing her shirt further up in their trail, "all the time if I could. At ballet, the girls ask and they wonder and I love talking about it. And Gwen asks how I'm feeling and I don't tell her I'm sick or tired, I just tell her how happy I am that there is this life inside of me...I mean…" Sybil let out a laugh and to Tom, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. "Isn't that crazy? We made this. She's not even here and I just want her to know that we love her and Max is going to love her and I want to tell her how beautiful and special she is."

Tom moved up. His hand remained on Sybil's bump, but his lips found her forehead, kissing once, then several more times. "You're going to be the best mum."

"I hope so. I hope she likes me," Sybil said honestly.

Tom laughed and pressed a kiss to Sybil's temple. "She's going to love you." But then: "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah!" Sybil admitted. "Aren't you worried?"

"Not really."

"No," Sybil said, reaching out to caress Tom's cheek. "You're going to be so perfect with her. You already are. And it's because you don't care. You'll push around her stroller and you'll do all of those things some dads are afraid to do. I can't wait." Sybil looked down to where her hands were placed on either side of her belly. "We're lucky, you and I," she said to her stomach.

Tom laughed. "I'm not going to be able to discipline her. With Max, it's different. But I just have this feeling, she'll smile and I'll lose it. I'll never be able to say no."

"Ahh, I think that might change eventually. But the thought of you two being bonded in that way...it's all I've ever wanted."

"She'll look like you, you know."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I'll love her anyway," Tom stated flatly, his face unchanging.

Sybil laughed, but also pushed Tom away, her eyes scolding him for ever saying such a thing. "You're so handsome! She'd be beautiful if she had your looks! That's what I want, if I had the choice...your coloring. Your freckles. Your laugh. Your patience."

"Your compassion. Your dedication. Your strength. Your voice. Your heart," he finished for her.

Sybil softened and Tom sighed. The two inhaled and exhaled, doing it all together as Sybil now covered Tom's hand on her stomach with her own. "I really believe she's a gift. Good things have been happening since we found out, you know? Works' been better for you. Max made the rowing team. Him and Sam are friends."

"You got a job with the feckin' Royal Ballet."

"We're lucky."

Tom leaned up and as he nodded in agreement, he seized Sybil's lips. She responded by wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, her nails scraping at his scalp, enticing him as she practically moaned. "See," Tom said pulling away. "Insatiable."

"You started it," she shot back. "Fine. No sex for you. See if I care!"

Tom laughed. "I will see if you care. And you do. Already you're upset I had to make a joke and ruin the moment. If it were up to you, your hand would be halfway down my pants..."

Sybil bit her lip. In releasing it, she pointed her finger in Tom's face while the other hand still remained draped over his shoulder. "You don't know me, Tom Branson."

"Nope, you're right," Tom played along, "I don't know you at all." He paused and looked around. "You know, I did the math and there are 72 positions in that book you bought. If we start now, we can totally master them by the time the baby comes," he revealed plainly.

Sybil smirked. This was his peace offering: discussing a kamasutra book they had bought on the internet, one that detailed all of the most comfortable and satisfying positions for an expectant mother. It was Tom's idea, and even then, both exhausted after long days at work, Sybil couldn't say no. She never would deny him the chance to connect with her this way, to show her what he always told her: that he loved her, and was in love with her, and that these feelings had meanings even he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Only 72?"

"I promise to make all of them, very worth your while."

"Yes," Sybil sighed. "But I'm insatiable. What if I just want to make love to you right here? On this bed?" She leaned into him, her lips practically touching the ear she was whispering into. "Over and over again."

Tom leaned back, if only so he could see her eyes. "We could start tomorrow." Sybil smirked. "Or never. I'm fine with either option."

A loud cackle Sybil was famous for rang out as the brunette dropped her head back. Tom took this as an invitation, one he gratefully accepted as he began, somehow very slowly, pressing delicious open mouthed kissed to the skin of her chest and collar bone. In response, Sybil's hands went back up to his hair, guiding his head to where she needed him, which was back to her waiting lips. Like the teenagers they sometimes wished to be, they stayed like this for awhile, hands traveling softly beneath cotton as they remained attached at the mouth, sharing kisses that were sweet and slow. When it was time to abandon that version of themselves, Tom gently stripped Sybil of her tank top and disregarded the item onto the floor.

"Sexy," Tom whispered.

"My heart still flutters when you look at me like that," Sybil whispered. "Please don't ever stop, alright? Even when I'm old and…"

"Never," Tom promised. "Never."

* * *

x. Elle


	15. Thanksgiving

**A/N****:** Based on where we are in _Beautiful Collisions_, it is actually early December when Martha arrives. It would completely throw off the pacing of the story to have her arrive earlier, and besides, I don't know if this is necessarily chapter worthy, so a drabble will have to do.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!

* * *

"Why don't _we_ celebrate Thanksgiving?" Max asked, dropping the canvas shopping bags from Waitrose onto the kitchen island. Martha had only just arrived from New York a few days prior and already she had convinced Tom and Sybil to allow her to cook a full Thanksgiving Day meal.

"It's an American holiday," Tom commented. He was already walking to the fridge to put certain grocery items away. On the way, Martha stopped him, taking from him the things she needed to start the meal. "It didn't start here."

"What? Will they be mad if we start to celebrate it too?"

Martha chuckled. "Yes, we probably will be."

Amidst all of this, Sybil's primary objective was plugging her MP3 player into the speaker underneath one of the cabinets. Around her, Max watched his great grandmother create a spread of food, all boxed and uncooked, organized in a way that made sense for the meal to be executed properly. Tom had already set the oven to preheat, knowing that if he hadn't, Martha would have scolded him, acting as if he should know exactly what she wanted from him at all times.

Turning back to some of the groceries, Martha retrieved the bag of potatoes and handed them to Max. "Peel these, will you?"

Max squinted. "With what?"

"Oh jesus," Martha let out before turning to Sybil and Tom. "Does the child not help you in the kitchen?"

"We've only just tackled knives," Sybil said casually. "Peelers are dangerous."

"The world is dangerous. Cars and math tests and television are dangerous. But I have utter faith in Max's capabilities that he can peel a potato."

Max brightened. "Thank you."

"No," Martha corrected. "Thank you. Now get to peeling."

As Tom handed Max the peeler and moved with the boy to the sink to begin showing him how to use it, Sybil began to make herself a pot of tea. She stood at the stove and Martha stood next to her, already beginning to prepare the freshly cleaned Turkey.

"So wait," Max asked, peeler in one hand and potato in the other, "What's the point of this again?"

"The Native Americans helped the settlers get through the winter by showing them to harvest the land and fish. Then, they apparently had a large meal together, giving thanks for their new friends and their survival."

"And then years later, the settlers, now Americans themselves, continued to give thanks to their Native friends by pushing them off their land and forcing them onto private property. But hey, at least they don't have to pay taxes," Tom quipped.

"Tom!" Sybil yelped. Max was too busy assessing the situation to laugh. Instead, his eyes darted back and forth between the adults in the room, doing their best to decide if Tom was being serious, and if so, why such a thing was humorous.

Martha let out a loud laugh. "Yes, well the story itself is a little far-fetched, but it has created one of the greatest American traditions."

"I can't argue with any holiday that celebrates food," Max tried.

"Ignore Tom," Sybil instructed. "Like Granmamma says, it's a great holiday."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you celebrate it often?" Tom sassed.

Sybil scrunched her nose, showing Tom she was thoroughly unamused by his jesting this morning. "I am part American, you know. We all seem to forget this."

"You only mention it when it's to your advantage to do so," Martha said, earning her a thankful smile from Tom.

"Like when there's food involved," Max agreed.

Martha saw firsthand today in the grocery store how alike her grandson was with his parental counterparts. Just like when she and they would go to the local market in Provincetown, all of them were utterly immersed in the joys of food, particularly those laden in fat and sweet. It was a miracle, she thought, that they all found ways to be so active. Otherwise, they'd certainly be a much larger family than they were now.

"So what? We make all of this food, eat it, and then what?"

"Then we self-loathe. All night long."

"Tom Branson, I swear to god…" Sybil started. But she didn't finish. She couldn't. Behind Max and Martha, Tom had already stepped into her side, grabbing ahold of her ever-growing waist as he nuzzled her neck with the tip of his nose, whispering a soft "I love you" into the waves of her hair.

The rest of the morning and afternoon carried on much like this. Tom displayed the effortless way in which he made his mother's mashed potato recipe. Martha then showed Sybil and Max why pineapples and sweet potatoes go so well together. When it was time for the table to be set, they all participated, while behind them, the turkey and all of the other side dishes waited to adorn the soft cream linen tablecloth in bright fall colors: greens and browns and yellows.

With everything plated, and each occupant of the home having their beverage of choice, they all sat. Martha insisted they say grace, and Max lead the prayer, a proud smile on his face as he then unclasped his hands and began to reach for the basket of rolls.

Plates were filled, and then refilled, and as the actual act of eating dwindled with each dish, conversation began to pick up again.

"Alright," Martha began. "What are you thankful for, Max?"

The child blinked, and his face hardened. He hated, admittedly so, to ever be put on the spot, even in the comfort of family. He swallowed. "I don't know."

Tom smiled. "Fine. I'll go." He set down his glass of ale. "I'm thankful for all of you...my family. I'm thankful for my job…"

"Okay, okay," Max reasoned, finally getting how all of this works. "I'm thankful for school. I'm thankful for my xbox and all of my games." Sybil stifled a laugh behind her hand, earning herself a confused look from Max, who decidedly changed his trajectory. "I'm thankful for you guys too. And for the new baby."

"I'm thankful for all of you. I'm thankful for the strength at this table and the love you all share for one another. I'm thankful that we all have a roof over our heads and cars to drive and jobs and school to go to each morning."

"You don't have a job or school," Max pointed out matter of factly. Sybil and Tom smirked, hoping Martha's response was just as good as Max's.

"No," Martha agreed. "I don't. But I did. And now you do. And I want those things for my family so that when I'm gone I don't have to worry."

"I'm thankful mum and dad don't worry," Max said, as if to agree.

Martha softened, her lips curling into a small frown. "I'm thankful for that too."

"It must sound crazy…you know. My mum and dad are gone. But I think they'd want me to be thankful of what I do have."

"I agree," Tom nodded.

Max didn't look up, but just continued: "Because if I'm not thankful, it's not like they'll be brought back. But I think they're both at peace now. And they have each other, which I'm also thankful for. And I have you guys. Which I'm thankful for."

Sybil leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. "I'm thankful that my nephew is so, so smart. That's a great way to look at it, Max."

What Sybil said must have embarrassed the child, because he avoided her gaze and instead looked to Tom, forcing a small smile that was quickly returned.

"I'm thankful for pie," Tom said. As soon as he did, he blinked, knowing that across the table, Sybil was silently scolding him for always taking the easy way out of less than comfortable situations. He did it often, and when they were younger, it had her stomach in stitches as she cried while laughing so hard. Now, it tasted different, and was perceived as such. Pie, or other topics, like the weather or someone else's feelings, were much more easily conquered than the pain he still felt at the loss of both of his parents. "This is not something I will allow Max to learn," Sybil spat one night. "I'm ashamed I've allowed you to keep it up so long," she continued, almost crying. "I'm your best friend and I need to be better about reminding you to feel…"

Max brightened, and in seeing this, Sybil couldn't fight it. She allowed the boy to jump up and grab the pumpkin pie from the fridge. There were many reasons she didn't fight it, one being that this all was very difficult to talk about. Tom being twenty was a reminder of this; if he was threatened by it all, Sybil could only imagine how difficult it was for a boy of ten to deal with. Another was that the pie was something her and Tom made with Max, and she knew the child was excited to share it and see what everyone thought. Also, it was thanksgiving, and she really didn't wish to fight. Really, she never wanted to fight with Tom. That point was one that had certainly kept her silent the longest.

With Max, Martha had also stood up, moving to make coffee. "Oh, Sybil, do I have to make you a pot of tea as well?"

Tom turned to Sybil and smiled. "She drinks coffee now," he said.

"What did you just say? Did you just say my granddaughter drinks coffee?"

"I do," Sybil nodded. "Blame New York."

"Never!" Martha waved. "Thank god you've finally come around."

"Amen," Tom added, nodding with the top of his longneck bottle. Sybil looked to him and smiled, wondering if she'd find such an action as cute if they didn't know one another so long. Either way, she found herself reaching across the table to touch his shoulder in appreciation.

Max returned, carrying the pumpkin pie like an offering. His eyes were wide and a smile was plastered across his face as he set the glass plate down onto the table. In the center of the pie, a dollop of homemade whipped cream that Martha helped the boy place.

"Can I cut it?"

Tom sat back. "Sure. Do you know what you're doing?"

"I've mastered knives, remember?" Max sassed, before grabbing the cake knife from the counter.

He began to cut the pie, and as he did, Sybil turned to Tom.

"Great. Just what I want. To have a nephew proudly proclaiming he's mastered knives."

Max ignored his aunt's comments and served everyone at the table with their own piece of pie. Martha returned, carrying three mugs and the pot of freshly made coffee. She set it down on the hotplate and then walked away to grab a glass of milk for Max. When she returned, they all ate, complimenting Max on the delicious pie, despite the effort being mostly that of Sybil.

Afterward, the rest of the pie was quickly put back in the refrigerator with a promise that yes, they could have a piece for breakfast the following morning. Sybil and Tom allowed this using their typical rule of thumb, that it was more than likely something Mary and Matthew would have also allowed.

As they then moved to the kitchen to begin clearing the rest of the plates, Martha stopped them. "I've got it."

"Yeah," Max agreed. "We'll do it. You guys cooked most of it."

"Granmamma," Sybil said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "really, we can help. We don't mind. It is our house."

"It's my house too," Max gave in defense. "Now go relax."

Sybil smiled sweetly. Her and Tom pushed in their chairs and went to the one place it made sense that they go, taking with them a blanket. Up to the rooftop patio, London was lost in a typical Friday night, quiet and bright, but lazy looking all the same. Immediately, Tom went for the sofa, and Sybil joined him, snuggling into his chest as he did his best to trap their warmth by wrapping the small throw blanket around them.

"Are you too cold?" Tom chuckled. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Nope. You can thank the baby for that one. I'm so warm lately. Warm and out of breath."

Tom laughed again. "Yeah, I noticed that."

"I can't even make it up the stairs without huffing and puffing."

"Oh, well I thought you were referring to last night…"

Sybil smirked and punched at Tom's shoulder. "That wasn't funny!" she defended, referring to their quite impassioned and therefore rough lovemaking the previous night that left Sybil breathless, and laughing, an act that only had her feeling more and more tired.

"You could breathe. You were fine. It was cute!" Tom assured. "Very cute," he commented again, this time with a kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Hey," she stopped him, her hands flat against his chest. "I'm really thankful for you."

Tom kissed Sybil. It was slow and sweet and when they pulled away, both were hesitant to open their eyes. "I'm thankful for you too," Tom agreed. "Very, very thankful."

"I love you, Tom. I'm so in love with you," she stated strongly. Even though she wanted to cry and felt like she might, her voice did not waver. "I don't know what I'd do without you. And I don't want to think about it so I just thank God everyday that you're here doing all of this with me."

"You too," he said, nipping at her lips again. "I love you, Syb. You and Max and this baby…"

"You really do love her."

"I love all of you. She's just...new."

Sybil laughed. "She is new. Four months and change, new."

"You know," Tom began, still staring down at Sybil's stomach. "Your grandmother told me that we're the lucky ones. And I didn't get it. And part of me still doesn't. But part of me does. Part of me feels really, really lucky."

"I get it," Sybil said with a nod. "We are lucky. Or at least I am. I mean I won't talk for you, but I feel lucky everyday. Blessed, even. God gave me you, and he gave us Max, and now this new baby."

"No, I'm lucky too. It could be better but it could also be a lot worse. We're doing alright."

Sybil nodded. "We are." And then again: "I love you."

Tom chuckled. "You said that already."

"Are you sick of it already? Because I have plans to continue saying it for the rest of my—" Tom cut her off with a kiss, one that had her mouth opening, granting him entrance as they slowly gave in, their hands moving to do the very same thing. Needing more, Sybil grabbed at the back of Tom's head, raking her hands through his hair, drawing him in, her hands giving him the same pressure her tongue currently was. One of his hands cradled her neck, and the other cupped a breast, suddenly wishing that they weren't confined by the small sofa and even tinier blanket.

When the need for air became an issue, they slowly detached. Their foreheads fell together, and both stared at one another, doing their best to catch their breath. "I'll never get enough of that," Tom admitted.

"My kisses?"

"And you loving me. You saying it. All of it."

"Good. Because I still have years to make up for when I didn't say it," Sybil said, pressing a kiss to Tom's cheek. She then snuggled back into him, her eyes catching on the lamppost across the street and how it flickered in contrast to the night sky.

* * *

A new chapter of BC should be up either Sunday night or Monday morning.

x. Elle


	16. Sybil's Birthday Breakfast

**A/N****:** This is my Christmas Gift to the always sweet, Taylor (**shana-rosee**)! Seriously one of the most caring people in this fandom and I'm so thankful to know her.

This is a response to a prompt she gave me a few weeks ago, involving Max and Madeline (We have a name now! Eeep!) cooking breakfast for Sybil on her birthday. Yes, we are looking into the future a bit, but don't let that trip you up too much…

Yes, it's a bit early to be posting, but it's not Christmas related AND I have a couple of these requests to complete, so as opposed to posting them all on Christmas and essentially overwhelming everyone, I'm most likely going to just triage my posting of them. If you have yet to submit a prompt and would like something written as a gift from myself to you, the deadline in December 10th! :]

Enjoy! x

* * *

For Madeline Branson, mornings usually began with her father pressing a kiss to her forehead, urging the child out of bed. During this, her mother would open the blinds before walking to the closet to grab the child the clothes she had allowed her to pick out the night before. This morning, however, the house was quiet, a silent nod to the way her mother liked to sleep in, the first gift of many that Sybil would receive on her birthday.

At six, Madeline was already the perfect proportions of both her mother and father. She was petite like Sybil, and painted with Tom's coloring. Her hair was all Sybil, a mess of curls, usually kept back with a ribbon or headband, ones purchased for her by her Aunt Edith. Her baby fat was almost completely gone, and with the help of already three years of ballet, she fought everyone's stereotypes that she'd be a complete tomboy. It was surprising too, because as predicted, and promised by Tom, Maddie was especially close with her father.

She adored her mother though, and found that the family she had, though different from most of the other girls at school, was one she cherished and loved deeply.

In her striped pajamas, she climbed out of bed and hit the floor with a pronounced thud. Much more quietly, the little girl tiptoed out of her room and down the hall to Max's room. She didn't bother to knock, and instead pushed right inside. Max, now seventeen, and nearly six feet tall, turned over in bed, hiding his face from his cousin.

"Mads, I'm sleeping, bug."

"Maxxxxx," she whined. "It's my mum's birthday!"

"Yes, and she treats herself by sleeping in. Can you not sleep? Is that it?" He then raised his comforter, inviting the child under. "My bed's nice and warm. Get in or get out.'

Madeline put a hand to her hip and pouted. "Maxwell!"

"Madeline," Max groaned back. "Pleaseeee. It's so early."

"It's seven o'clock! C'mon! I wanna make mum breakfast!"

"I got her a present," Max offered. "I even asked you if you wanted me to help you get her something and you said no—"

"Yes, because I want to make her breakfast," Madeline said confidently. "Will you please help me?"

Max sighed and sat up in bed, already doing his best to rid body of sleep. He was also a bit hungover, something he had no intention of sharing with Madeline even if she were old enough to comprehend such a feeling. Sybil and Tom knew though, and were surprisingly calm about the situation, ensuring the boy had aspirin and plenty of water before going to bed the night before. At one point he even heard one of them open the door to check on him, watching as he inhaled, then exhaled, measuring his health by the rise and fall of the comforter pulled up to his chin. This may have also been the thing to propel him out of bed. Yes, he had bought his Aunt Sybil a birthday gift — a charm for one of her bracelets, and a photo of her and his own mother that he had edited himself and re-printed using the photography lab Sybil and Tom built him in the closet of his dad's old office. The latter was something he had framed and knew she'd enjoy the most.

"Alright, Mads, let's go."

"Yes!" Madeline let out, throwing a hand into the air. "Can you make pancakes like dad?"

"Yes," Max sighed, standing now. "And I'm going to teach you just like your dad taught me so that next year you can do this all by yourself, okay?"

Madeline paid her cousin no attention and instead walked to the door, knowing that Max had no other choice but to follow. Together, they walked down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where Madeline was already turning on all of the lights, a task that seemed feeble considering the amount of sunlight pouring in through the windows.

"Okay. get me the eggs and the butter and the milk."

"And bacon? Mum loves bacon."

"Yeah, and the blueberries."

Madeline walked to the fridge and opened the door. She left it ajar as she then walked to the table and began to drag one of the chairs to the fridge so she could retrieve each item.

"Mads!" Max whispered harshly. "This is supposed to be a surprise, innit? Do you want her to wake up?"

Madeline sighed, her cheeks growing hot after receiving such a reprimand from her cousin; Madeline did her very best to keep him from knowing just how highly she esteemed him. Max noticed her change in demeanor and sighed. "Be careful on that chair, alright? The last thing your mum needs on her birthday is a trip to the hospital."

"You're cranky this morning!" Madeline let out. She then jumped down from the chair and brought all of the items Max requested to the counter.

Max was distracted, already moving to make himself a pot of coffee. Thankfully, Tom had set the pot to brew the night before and all he had to do was press 'start'. As it began to brew, he turned back to Madeline, quickly walking to her to aid in her actions as he was reminded that she was only barely at eye level with the counter.

"Grab me a pan."

"The flat one?"

Max smiled. "Yes, the one we use for grilled cheese."

"Got it," Madeline nodded. She returned, handing Max the pan. She then watched as her cousin took things down from the cabinet, not even bothering to measure out ingredients like flour, salt and sugar, and the baking soda and powder.

As he mixed all of the dry ingredients, he didn't look away, and instead, he just pointed with his free hand. "Melt that butter for me, okay? Just forty three seconds for the entire stick. And then get me the sour cream."

Madeline went to move but was stopped, turning back to her cousin with a look of disgust on her face. "Ew. Why?"

Max could only laugh. "Just do it. I'll show you."

Madeline shrugged and went to complete her task. In her absence, Max created a separate bowl, putting the eggs, vanilla extract, and milk inside. He began to whip the mixture by hand, conscious that somewhere upstairs, his aunt and uncle were still very much asleep. When Madeline returned, she handed him the sour cream, and he waited as she walked to the microwave to grab for the melted butter.

"Do you want a glove?" Max offered. "Don't burn your fingers. Your mum and dad would kill me."

"I'm not a baby!" Madeline screeched. "Now show me the sour cream stuff."

Max took the butter from Madeline and poured it into the bowl containing all of the wet ingredients. "Okay, measure out a cup of the sour cream for me."

Madeline nodded and quickly, that task was also completed. She came back, handing Max the metal measuring cup containing the softened dairy. "This seems gross."

"Nope. Your dad swears by it. It's your granmum's recipe."

"What does it do?"

"It makes them fluffy. Also contrasts with the sweetness of the blueberries. Heightens those flavors."

Madeline nodded, pretending to understand. In all honesty, her brain practically shut down after the world 'fluffy' and already she was thinking she wanted to dance, her toes tapping at the ground, causing her to look like she was fidgeting. "Did you know her?"

"Your granmum? Nope. I just know she was an amazing cook. She's the reason your dad is so good. And all of those meals your mum makes, especially in the winter, those are from her recipe book."

"That's cool, I guess."

"It is," Max conceded. "Now pour the wet mixture into the dry mixture. But be careful. You don't want everything to splash all over the place."

"Can't we use the mixer?"

"No, we're doing it the old fashioned way so we don't wake your mum up."

"Oh, right," Madeline nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious for forgetting. Max made her nervous sometimes in the way that older siblings do. She just wanted to do everything right, even more so because he wasn't her actual brother and the age gap between them was great.

Max handed Madeline the carton of blueberries. "Here, put these in. Start slow and mix them gently. You don't want to crush the berries."

"Done," she stated proudly.

Max looked into the bowl, and sure enough, the mixture looked complete. He sprayed the pan and put the oven on. "Bring that chair over here and you can help me pour them."

Again, Madeline obliged. It seemed that she was just as attentive and obedient as her mother and father, that is, when it was convenient for her. Max had to smile, thinking of all of the temper tantrums she had, insisting she wear trainers with her school uniform, or coming home from ballet with rips in her stockings, causing Sybil to roll her eyes and for Tom to have to remind her that she had once done the very same thing.

Together, Max and Madeline poured the perfect amount of the mixture onto the skillet. They waited, and then Max removed the skillet so he could throw the pancake up in the air, causing it to come back down, meeting the metal pan with a small hissing noise. All the while, Madeline watched, her eyes wide with wonder. She had seen her father do the same thing so many times before, and it was believable then. Like most little girls she thought her father was a superhero; a man capable of any and all things. To see Max perform a similar function was not only eye-opening, but a source of contention now as he moved the freshly made pancake to a clean plate.

"Show me!" Madeline whispered. "I wanna try!"

Max thought for a moment. Already he was moving to pour more of the mixture onto the pan. He stopped. "Fine. Get down from the chair and I'll help you." Madeline jumped down and stood in front of Max. He wrapped his arms around his cousin, towering above her, with the handle to the skillet in their hands. "Rock it a bit. You need to loosen it off the metal before...you…" His voice was slow now, mimicking the action of his hands on the pan. "Toss it," he finally said, flicking his wrists and Madeline's upward, causing the pancake to soar before flipping back down onto the skillet.

"Whoa!" Madeline let out, watching as Max now put it back on the burner. "That was so cool! Can I do the next one?"

Max prepared another pancake. "Sure. Here," he tried, carefully giving the child the handle once again. This time though, he let go. "Please don't burn yourself, Mads."

"I got this," she assured. Then, just as he showed her, though not with quite as much force, she tossed the pancake and watched with a satisfactory smile as it came back down onto the pan. "It's in my blood."

"Looks like it," a voice from the archway said. Madeline turned to the door where her father had just come downstairs. His hair was disheveled, just as it always was, and it was odd for Max to see his Tom like this, undressed and not just coming back from his morning run.

"DADDY!" Madeline let out. It went unnoticed by all in the room, and Tom merely stepped in, giving his daughter a smile as he came to inspect what it was she and Max were cooking. "Pancakes!" she added, energetically. "For mummy!"

"Wow," Tom beamed. He stepped behind his daughter and placed a sloppy kiss to her cheek causing her to giggle. As Madeline moved to make another pancake, he poured himself a cup of coffee, and sipped at the liquid, still hot and black, as he nodded at Max. "How's the head?"

Max shrugged. "Actually, until you just mentioned it, I was doing pretty well."

Tom flicked Max's head, causing the boy to slide to get away from him. "Does that hurt?"

"Yeah, a bit," Max said, rubbing at his scalp. "Is Aunt Sybil mad?"

"Nope. Not at all. She was just worried. You looked pretty green at one point."

Max shrugged. "I'm sorry. It won't—"

"Yes, it will. You're just going to be better about. And next time you want to go out, you're not going to lie about it...because we're going to set down some ground rules."

He couldn't argue, especially because Tom's attitude was much less severe than anything he deserved. He had gone out without telling them, and to a place he was unfamiliar with where alcohol was served. In the end, he drank too much and walked home alone. Somehow it was the last idea that hurt Sybil the most, and even in his drunken state she made him promise not to do that ever again. Actually, it was the only promise she had him make. She barely even mentioned the alcohol on his breath aside from mentioning the pain he'd surely be in come the following morning.

"Alright, thanks," Max sighed.

"Tom? Is Madeline—" Sybil turned the corner and was stopped by the sight of everyone, her entire family, casually standing in the kitchen: Max and Tom standing sipping coffee while Madeline, her face smeared with flour to accent her bright smile, flipping the last of the pancakes.

"Love," Tom sighed. "I was going to bring your tea up to bed."

"Oh no!" Sybil tried, moving to cover her eyes. "Is this a surprise?"

"Well, I was surprised too," Tom offered.

Then: "Not really. Well…" Max started, unsure of how to explain the situation; it wasn't his surprise to reveal.

"It was supposed to be a surprise!" Madeline admitted, her voice dripping in frustration not completely foreign to the six year old. "But you know now…"

Sybil quickly walked to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her, kissing her cheeks and brushing back her hair. As she did this, Tom nonchalantly reached over to turn off the burner where Madeline had left the empty skillet, causing bits of the pancake mix to burn onto the metal. "I am so surprised! So thank you! What did you make?"

"Max made—"

Max furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "I didn't do anything," he said quickly. "I've just been supervising."

Madeline shot her cousin a look and smiled, then returned her attention to her mother. "Blueberry pancakes, mummy! And I want to make you eggs and bacon now!"

"Why don't you see if Daddy wants to help you with that while Max and I set the table?"

Already, Tom had moved to put a pan on the stove. In it, he shaved off a slice of butter, then rolled it around in the pan, coating the surface. This made it easier when he went to crack an egg, all with the help of Madeline, for the egg not to stick to the pan and to taste just that much better.

Near the table, Sybil, dressed in sleep shorts and a simple v-neck moved about, folding napkins to be placed beside every plate. "Did you wake her up?"

"No," Max admitted. "She woke me up."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be. I wanted to help her. And it's better than her waking you up on your birthday."

"Tom told me you wanted to help her get me a gift."

"Yeah, I tried. She made you something the other night while I was studying. But apparently she's had this planned all along. She was pretty determined this morning at 7am."

"That early?" Sybil winced.

Max nodded. "Yeah. I thought you had put her up to it."

"No way!" Sybil deflected. "She's her own."

"That she is," Max agreed. Then: "I'm sorry about last night.'

Sybil chuckled. "That's alright. Did Tom talk to you yet? We just want to make sure you're safe next time…"

Max nodded. "I know."

Behind them, Madeline skipped for the table, carrying in her hands a large pitcher of orange juice. Tom was just a step back, carrying the plate of pancakes in one hand, and then eggs and bacon in another. He set both down in the center of the table where Madeline, her eyes wide and her body propped up on her knees, reached to pour herself a glass of orange juice. "Mads, why don't you let daddy help you?"

Madeline slumped down and smiled at her father, handing him her glass so he could pour her some orange juice. He did, and then handed his daughter the glass, adding a kiss to the crown of her head. "Alright, I'll say grace."

Max laughed, knowing what was to come. "Great."

"Bless us, oh Lord, and these my gifts, which we are about to receive from my bounty, true Christ, our Lord. Amen."

Sybil opened her eyes and looked up, immediately searching for her best friend's gaze from across the table. She nodded, and he shrugged, both actions eliciting smiles similar to the one Madeline was already wearing, proud of her prayer. Together, dishes were passed, and stories shared, and then, when the pancakes were almost gone and only syrup and crumbs coated each plate, Madeline watched as Tom and Max gave Sybil her presents. From Tom, a new pair of booties and tickets to a concert she had been wanting to see. Max was sure there were other items, ones that were kept private and ones Tom would give to Sybil on lazy afternoons when he just felt she deserved to be pampered. He was learning a lot growing up in this household, things like patience and tolerance, and most importantly: love. Another thing he was learning, forgiveness, marked by the wide smile and the shining tears that rolled down his aunt's cheeks when she unwrapped the framed picture he prepared for her.

"Look at Aunt Mary!" Madeline let out. "She's so pretty, Mama." The comment, though somewhat different from what everyone else was thinking, reminded them of what was important: Madeline grew up knowing just as much about her aunt and uncle as Max did. They were every bit important in this home, their home originally, as they ever had been, and it was crucial to Sybil and Tom that they inform Madeline of the family she has, even if at the moment, they weren't here to meet her.

Sybil covered her mouth and nodded. Still crying, she was incapable of much else. "She's beautiful. It's beautiful, Max...how did you…"

He shrugged. "Time. Lots of time. I hope it looks okay. Now we can hang it in the house."

"It's perfect. Thank you. So so much. This breakfast, and the gifts. Thank you all," Sybil let out. She then stood, and kissed Madeline, then Max, before walking to Tom, and kissing him full on the mouth. Each person at the table meaning so much to her, and she felt it, the love she had for them all, so different and so equal, especially as she clutched the picture of her and her sister to her chest, now walking to the foyer to find a place on the photo wall to hang it.

* * *

I hope it was everything you wanted, Taylor! To the rest of you: thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	17. Backseat Jealousy

**A/N**: This is my Christmas gift to the flawless **skinnycat77**. Such a sweetheart and such a supportive reader!

It's a response to a prompt dealing with jealousy when they were still in school together. She also requested a bit of smut. If you want to know how much I adore her…well…I'm calling it smut. Unapologetically so, too.

I will say, this also kind of explores a question a few of you have brought up, that being: Who is Tom's Jonathan Ashford? Well…

Enjoy! xx

* * *

She saw him. In fact, she had been watching him all night. From the time he had told her he wasn't planning on attending Jonathan's birthday party, Sybil watched from her window, looking out onto the garage just waiting for her best friend to tell her that he had changed his mind and would now accompany her to the dinner. She saw no stirring, only a few light changes occurring up in the loft. And when she and her family left for the party, Tom had still not responded to Sybil's text messages, ones where she resorted to asking him if he wanted to come up to her room later in hopes of mollifying their tension.

Later, Sybil thanked her mother's headache, because it allowed everyone to return home early and continue watching, this time seeing much more than she'd like to, or rather, allowing her mind to run wild with ideas to accompany the vision before her of her best friend getting into his car with a girl and driving off.

She was fuming, and as she went for her door, ready to march down to the garage to confront him on his return, Sybil looked down and found that she had not yet changed out of her gown from the party. Now, she wondered if she should, or if the sight of it, plum and tight and knee length, would infuriate him even more, making him just as incensed as she was now.

A few minutes later, in a pair of ripped jeans and a simple slouchy shirt that nearly fell off her freckled shoulders, Sybil ran down to the garage, finding she was right on time as she had only just jumped up onto the workbench as he pulled in.

The headlights were turned off, but the engine continued to purr, ticking as it began to acclimate to the temperature of the night and cool down. As Tom got out, he saw Sybil, and merely shook his head in her direction, telling his best friend he didn't want a fight. All the same, he stepped toward her, practically encouraging her to react in the way that she did.

"Who the fuck was that?" Sybil demanded, as she allowed her shoes to meet the gravel below once more. "Who was that, Tom?"

Always calm, Tom merely shut his car door behind him, interrupting the otherwise peaceful springtime night. He laughed and wiped at his mouth, doing so because he was amused, but also because he knew that beyond it all, Sybil secretly found his well executed arrogance to be somewhat of a turn on.

"Marci," he said simply. "You know her."

"Yeah, I do," Sybil spat with arms crossed over her chest tightly. "Did you fuck her?"

Tom laughed, but then, very seriously he looked to Sybil. "Oh, yeah," he let out casually. "Several times."

Sybil's mouth dropped and she stepped into him, ready to retaliate. Normally she'd push at his shoulders, but now, she didn't even want to touch him. She knew he was kidding, he had to be, but it didn't help the sting of hearing, and now coping with such a thought. Already her mind was having a hard time dealing with the thought of another girl even being in Tom's car, much less sleeping with her best friend, this boy she loved.

"I told you to come with me! I told you I wanted you there! You didn't need to go fucking around with some girl from school to prove your point, okay? That's not fair!"

"Syb, you sound crazy…"

"I am crazy! _You_ make me crazy!" she emphasized. "People were talking to me all night and all I could think about is that I should have just stayed home with you. But apparently that wasn't even an option. I mean, how dumb do I look? Worrying about you when you had plans all along!"

"Actually, I didn't. She called last minute and wanted help on that calculus assignment."

"Oh, please!"

Tom stepped toward his best friend with both of his hands buried deep in his denim pockets. "See, that's what I thought too. And I'm going to be honest with you, I wouldn't have fucked her, but if she wanted to give me something else, sure...whatever. But the more I talked to her the more I realized, nope, this girl's an idiot and I think she actually does need help. So who feels stupid now, right? I mean, you've said it yourself, Syb. None of the girls in this town want me…"

Tom began walking for the stairs now, causing the hem of his jeans, already frayed, to rub against his rubber soles with each step he took. He was stopped by Sybil, jumping out to hinder his trajectory, her voice also begging him to stay. "I said that in anger, Tom! I didn't mean it! Plenty of girls want you, alright? And you know it. So stop being an ass! It doesn't look good on you."

Tom smirked and stepped back into Sybil. They were so close now that they were almost touching, and for a reason Sybil was unaware of, she looked down, needing to see how much more she could push before it all became too much for either of them to handle. "Who, Syb?"

_Me!_ she wanted to scream. _Me! I want you! I want you now and I want you always!_ But all that came from her mouth was a scoff, one that had her stepping away, moving back into the garage and out of the view from the estate behind them.

"Yeah, exactly." But he wasn't ready to let her go either. Lately, he found it was unlikely he'd ever be ready for that, so he tried again. "How was it? Did Jonathan like your gift?"

"You mean the gift my parents got him? The savings bond? I'm sure he thought what most boys would think: Ghee, thanks! Riveting!" she gestured dramatically.

"No, Sybil," Tom sighed. "I'm talking about that fucking Shakespeare book you got him. I saw it on your nightstand all wrapped up."

"That was for YOU, you asshat! Jesus Christ, you think Jonathan reads Shakespeare? To be honest, it's still weird to me that you read Shakespeare..." Then she remembered her initial outrage, and continued, her voice dropping off. "I didn't get him a thing! I couldn't. Not after the way he treated you, okay? You think that just hurt you, those things he said about your mum? Well, they didn't. So you two boys have your immature disagreements, but he's on my shitlist and he knows it."

"Immature? He insults my mother, my dead mother," Tom reminded, "and it's immature that I react? He punched me first."

"And you didn't have to punch him back, Tom! You're not a violent person, alright? That's not you. You're better than that."

"How about you let me decide who I am on my own, Sybil? Maybe you don't know who I am…"

Sybil turned around and pushed at her hairline, causing her hair, to ripple against her back in soft waves. "I may not know a lot, but I know you, alright? And I have worked hard to know you. I like the person you are. I don't like this person you're being because right now, you're acting very, very stupid."

"Thanks, Syb," Tom stated.

She sighed. "I didn't mean it like that," she said, turning back to him. "It's just frustrating, you know?" Sybil asked and she wondered if he did. Her voice was softer now, much more calm, and pleading too, as she took another step into Tom, running a hand through her hair, causing it to part to the side as it trailed down her back. "I don't want Jonathan! How many times do I have to say it? Can't you, as my best friend, think that I hold myself to a bit higher of a standard? You think I'm gonna let that kid fuck me? I mean, that's what you're worried about, right?"

"Pfttt!" Tom let out. "I don't care what you do, Syb. I've told you that since we started this. It's your body. Do with it what you want. And while we're at it, anytime you want to end this…"

"Me? What about you? I went to a formal birthday party with my parents. You stayed home. Alone. With some tramp from school. Maybe I should be asking you if you want out..."

"She's Catholic," Tom reasoned.

"Tramp," Sybil spat back indignantly.

Tom wiped at his mouth again and laughed. "You know what?" he said, taking one step into her, doing so he could wrap an arm tightly around her waist, pulling her in close so she could hear just how husky his voice was as it landed hot against her cheek. "It would bother me. You using everything I've taught you to get Jonathan off…"

Sybil swallowed and Tom continued."Maybe I'm just possessive," he said simply.

"Fine. Well, maybe I don't want to share you with anyone either." Her voice had taken on a different air now, one thick and full of everything he _had_ taught her: respect for herself, loving her body, knowing her own worth, and other things of the like.

"Fine," Tom whispered back. "Me neither."

Sybil's mouth pulled into a sly smile. "And maybe I'm offended by the fact that you think all I'd be doing is getting Jonathan off." She stepped into Tom, so closely that her lips moving to speak words that practically painted his mouth in hot kisses. "I'm not Marci or any of those other girls...I'm not stupid. I expect to be treated well. You of all people should know that."

He nodded, and she gave in, kissing him, slowly at first, then much more hungrily, as her arms wrapped around his neck and he accepted all of her weight onto him, as she jumped up into his arms.

"Workbench?" she suggested.

But Tom shook his head. "Backseat. We've never done it in the backseat," he mumbled, wondering suddenly why that was so.

He didn't have time to think of an answer, and with Sybil moving to rid herself of her shirt, Tom found himself distracted, his eyes catching on the way her chest pushed back at her bra, or the way her hair now fell back down around her shoulders. For as careful as his best friend sometimes was, he loved her like this: lacking any and all inhibitions. Her care for the world and the people in it often had her forgetting simple things, like tidying her room or picking her wet towels up off the bathroom floor. To him, it made all of these moments, the ones they shared in private, mean that much more. Her focus was on him, and only him. It was not only her body, but her mind as well that she gave up to him so willingly, and now her lips made a similar promise, dipping into the soft skin at the crook of his neck.

Still attached, they were at the car now, and Tom had finally begun to fight for dominance, bending as she did, their heads pressed perfectly against one another as they shared several, wet, open-mouthed kisses with tongues dueling. Breathless, and feeling quite impatient, Tom broke away. He put Sybil's weight up against the side panel of the car so he could reach down and open the door. His hand dropped from her neck and began to feel around on the side of the freshly painted Mustang, needing the touch of cool metal if only so he could feel other things, her bare skin in particular, once again. Finally, he made contact, and an empty popping reverberated through the air as he opened the driver's side door.

Without hesitation, Sybil let go of Tom, doing so quickly, hoping it would allow them to reconnect in a similar manner. As she pushed past him and scooted into the backseat, she curled her forefinger toward herself, urging he join her inside. Discreetly, she was also mimicking an action that she'd ask he perform on her later if he didn't take initiative the way he usually managed to.

He joined her inside, not needing a finger, or even a word of permission to know exactly what it was that Sybil wanted. Already, Tom was onto other things, and he reached down and began to fumble with his belt, moving quickly to unloop the leather from its confines. Sybil looked to him and finished the process, ridding him of the constraint completely. Then, she stilled his hands as her eyes bore into his, asking him things that after two years, she was still unable to fathom into sentences. Tom didn't mind. His answer had been given long ago, and he nodded, knowing what it was that Sybil wanted without ever having to ask.

Slowly, her face leaned in, needing to taste him again. It distracted them both in such an innocent way, allowing for her dainty fingers to make quick work of his jeans, pushing them down off his hips. Tom also took this opportunity to reach down, and with crossed arms, pull his shirt up over his head. His chest, all of him, even the hairs that had began to darken as they led into his boxer-briefs, came into view for Sybil. She bit her lip and fought the urge kiss him again, an action she was sure he caught onto long ago, one that she hoped didn't make her look as desperate as she sometimes felt. Instead, her hands practically itched as they traveled across his freckled skin — kissing and touching, wanting and needing.

"You're beautiful," he mumbled, and then once again, they were attached at the mouth, Tom keeping a steady, aggressive hand at the back of Sybil's neck, not wanting her to part from him even when their kisses, sloppy and speedy, had them craving air. If she wouldn't take his words, he'd demand she feel it, the love and respect he had for her beyond anything they were about to do.

His next words caught them both off guard, and from the moment they slipped out of his lips, they left them both with wide eyes and hesitant minds.

"You're mine," he said, almost as if to repeat his earlier sentiment.

Sybil could have, and Tom was sure she had every right to, completely go off on him. She wasn't his; that was the entire point of this. But instead, she leaned up to kiss him, chastely, and with eyes so tight neither of them dared to think of what could come next. Finally though, Sybil slowly opened her eyes, blinking at Tom, before whispering: "Show me."

Slowly, he began to oblige. First, he helped her toss away her bra, and out of his own selfishness, he leaned back, never being able to get enough of her like this: her toned stomach and perky chest, and the smile she always wore, one of radiant confidence he was sure she'd never let anyone else see. Somehow, they both kicked out of their jeans, an action that surely would have looked silly to any onlooker, especially as Tom reached up to toss each pair of denim over the seat in front of him as if with his beautiful best friend this naked and this close, he was somehow concerned with wrinkles or mud stains.

All too quickly, they were attached at the lips again, kissing in the way teenagers do, where even in half-nakedness, the world is slow around them and skin, though explored many times before, feels brand new. Sybil's hands were everywhere, mostly his neck, and the expanse of his broad shoulders. When sharing lips left them satiated, they both moved elsewhere, with Tom taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking, and pulling while teasing the other with his thumb and forefinger. All the while, Sybil had her hands raking through his hair, encouraging his behavior, and praising him for following silent direction so closely. He was not only showing her, but promising her as well, and though she blushed to admit it, she needed him like this: now and always.

"Do you want to—" Tom began, picking up his head.

Already though, Sybil was shaking her head to dismiss his thoughts. "No." A pause as she thought, but then: "Later, maybe. I just want you," she finally said so plainly. "I want to be the only girl that gets to have you," she said, this time, her voice remaining strong and somewhat aggressive.

Tom nodded, and covered her lips once more. As he did, he felt her chest press up into him, her hands now working inside his underwear, pumping him slowly in the small space that existed between them.

"Syb, I thought—"

Again, his best friend shook her head. Her words came no differently than they had a minute ago, and as she spoke, Tom almost forgot the tender way in which her hands moved upon him. "I want to be the only girl that gets to have you," she repeated.

Beneath him, Sybil smiled, and then her mouth dropped open and Tom took this as an invitation to cover it, slipping his tongue inside as his hands cupped her cheeks, angling her lips perfectly against his own. He had forgotten to shave that morning and Sybil wondered if it was a conscious choice, one made after she told him last week that she liked how mature he looked with a bit of shadow on his chin. Of course this compliment was paid following a dinner where Robert had told him the exact opposite.

Finding that he was nearing an orgasm, Tom closed his eyes and dropped his head down. He imagined that someday he'd be stronger, but it seemed that no matter how much he ever wished to withstand Sybil's gentle ministrations, he was unable to do so. As he had also said, it didn't help that she had that typical stupid smirk on her face as her hair waved down around her shoulders, but not enough to cover the rosy peaks of her chest which heaved as she breathed in and out, or laughed.

"Fuck, Syb, I don't want to…"

"No," she said softly. "Go ahead," she whispered. His head was dropped down to her shoulder now, and she knew he was close. She loved him this way, resting upon her for strength, doing so without worry that she'd judge him for not always keeping his composure. "I want you to," she said finally and Tom moaned, unsure of whether such a sound was provoked by her mouth or her hands.

"I want to be inside of you," he said through ragged breathing. Now he was growing weak, which made it more and more difficult to hover above her. The distance between them was no longer as great as it originally was, and the tip of his cock, already swollen and teeming with pre-cum sputtered out onto Sybil's exposed stomach. In seeing this, Sybil steadily increased the speed of her hand, moving the other down to caress his balls, applying pressure back onto his thighs, just in the way he liked.

Eventually, Tom grunted out, and with his eyes still closed he dropped his head back and collapsed into her, spilling himself onto her cleavage and just below. In reward, she kissed his face, and he smiled, stars covering his eyes as he blinked, taking snapshots of the stitching on the leather seat they moved upon.

"Jesus. Christ," he whispered into her shoulder.

Sybil laughed and kissed his cheek. "You okay?"

Breathless still, he nodded against her skin. "Fuck, I'm a lucky bloke."

"Switch places with me," Sybil urged. The timbre of her voice was bright, something she always wore so proudly after pushing Tom over the edge. She wanted more, and in seeing him so satisfied she wanted to join him there. Already, she was missing the feeling of his hands, so calloused, running up and down her stomach, over her arms and onto her neck, cradling her head perfectly.

Tom nodded. "Here," he offered, picking Sybil up and pressing her weight into his chest so he could flip them over. When they were repositioned, Sybil moved to straddle him and bent her back upward so she could begin to strip off her underwear. Tom covered his eyes, spreading his fingers to catch a glimpse when her laughter turned to something else.

From out behind his hands, he saw Sybil dip her finger between the valley of her breasts where now, in her upright position, his cum had already begun to drip down her stomach. Starting from her belly button, she worked upward, collecting all of his seed on the outline of her finger. In it's wake, her skin glistened, sticky, as she tasted and swallowed him, sucking her finger clean.

Again, Tom dropped his head back. "You're gonna kill me, Syb."

Hearing this, she placed her hands to his chest and pouted her lips, asking for a kiss. He gave it to her without hesitation, and when they pulled away she smiled, earning her the same thing from him in return. "Well, we can't have that." She was naked now, fully. And as she leaned back down into him, she wondered if the silhouette of her backside could be seen through the rear window of his car as she rocked against him.

"I want you inside of me," Sybil murmured, as her lips worked their way down Tom's chin and onto his neck. "Now," she choked out.

Tom shook his head and first spread her legs with his hands, making slow work of running one, then three fingers up and down her slit to lubricate them. Without warning, though it was soon clear she needed none, he pushed inside of her, curling his fingers upward in a soft motion. Sybil's hands were still on his chest and she scraped at him, rather harshly, digging her nails into the flesh of his abdomen as she writhed against his fingers.

"No, noooo," she whined, all the while enjoying the electricity he was creating within her. "Tom, stop."

It took no other words, and while his fingers remained inside of her, he stopped moving, now looking up to her as his smile faded. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't want to do that right now."

"I thought you wanted to be treated well. You deserve to be treated well," Tom corrected, no longer thinking of Jonathan or any other guy that most likely fantasized about his best friend, doing so without ever deserving her time. "When do I get to make you feel good?"

"Right now," she smiled innocently.

Tom narrowed his view and tilted his head, doing his best now to figure this all out. It was in these moments that he shouldn't think, and he knew that, and yet this was when he was most insightful, wondering why she'd demand equal treatment from boys like Jonathan, and with him, she couldn't help but to be selfless. But he didn't want to think any more. For each discovered truth there was another, less kind and more glaring fact, that accompanied all they were hiding from one another.

Reaching down between them, Sybil moved his hands and was jolted only momentarily while Tom put his fingers to his mouth and licked them dry. Between them, her center was pressed right atop the length of his almost erect cock, which she rode, sliding from ball to tip, up and down, creating a friction that had him reaching out for her, hushing her hips as he sought reprieve. It became all too clear to Sybil how satiated her best friend still was from their earlier jaunt, and now, to tease him like this, was to remind herself that if he wasn't so loving, so kind and caring with her, or if she were simply any other girl, he may have just rolled over and gone to sleep.

"Jesus…" Tom let out, half-breathless.

"I'm sorry," Sybil whispered, moving her lips back to his ear. Quickly she nibbled on his cartilage, lapping at the skin in her wake, never wanting to truly hurt him. "I just know what I want…"

Tom smiled and grabbed the back of Sybil's neck so he could give her a proper kiss. In doing this, he sat up, and with her in his lap still, she grabbed ahold of his shoulders and positioned herself over his hard length, so that languidly she could take all of him at an angle that was familiar to them.

"Yesssss," she hissed, moving her hands from the valley of her own thighs up to his back. He wasn't even halfway inside of her and already she was digging her hands into the flesh of his arms. "God, I lo—" But she didn't finish that sentence, and it would be a year again before he'd finally hear it, the same thing both had come so close to admitting on more than one occasion.

Sybil dropped her head down to the crook of his neck, tasting, marking and then inevitably lapping at his scarlet skin as he thrust up into her. For some reason she was preoccupied with the way she ran her fingernails through the hairs at the nape of his neck, but Sybil finally raised her head to meet Tom's gaze, and the two, with foreheads touching, found that each stroke was an equal effort, and needed to be, if they were to finish together.

Just as Sybil had warned, their actions had her feeling unsteady, and in order to meet him in the way she wished, she did have to hold onto the seat behind his head, making it so that she could no longer touch him. This challenged what she wanted, especially now as Tom dropped one of his hands from her hip and used the thumb of that hand to tap ever so gently against her clit.

"Ahhh, fuckkkk!" Sybil let out, shying away from him.

Though she moved, Tom continued, knowing just what Sybil liked, and how and when to give it to her. She was always vocal. Even as a small girl, she talked a lot, constantly asking questions or starting conversations with strangers in the village. Now, he heard new words, new ideas and she shared with him new thoughts, all in perfectly innappropriate tones and at drastic volumes. For every groan, she met him with a sigh, or a loud moan, crying out as he filled her to the hilt. He couldn't imagine her being like this with anyone else, and he didn't want to. He hoped these dirty things were always there secret, at least so he could revel in the fact that only he had seen her this way, and deep down, all because she believed him to be worthy.

Sybil had given up on the headrest and could only hold onto Tom now, her hands tightly wrapped around his wide frame. Into his neck she moaned, and then would drop her mouth open, a wave of her pre-orgasm tinglings tickling in her belly, encouraging the way she uninhibitedly pressed her open mouth to the skin of Tom's collarbone or his cheek. She'd mark him surely, and for a moment, she felt guilty, but then she heard him whisper something, and Sybil picked her head up to look at her best friend, tightening and untightening the grip her lower half had on him from within.

"Mine," he breathed out. Then again: "You're mine, Sybil…"

"Mhm," she nodded, biting her lip. Even if she weren't seconds away from an orgasm, she couldn't deny it. In fact, the way in which she moved encouraged his behavior. If he said it again, she was sure she'd demand more from him. Not only an orgasm, but the admission of love as well. Instead, she repeated his words back to him. "You're mine."

"I don't want anyone else. Just you," he managed, still thrusting.

It was all Sybil needed, and the two kissed as their bodies gave out, sending them both reeling through what they swore was one of their best shared climaxes to date. Between her legs, Sybil felt him fill her up, and lazily she smiled through the warmth, hoping that he'd stay inside of her even when he was done. She needed this closeness even more now. It was reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere, and that he'd hold up his end of the bargain, to claim her, and all because she had told him to.

All she could think of was how selfish Jonathan, and most boys probably would be, making love to her. Really, she couldn't even call it that. That was something her and Tom did. That was something she never wanted to share with anyone else, ever again. This, was something she'd have every morning and night hereafter. It was show enough, and perhaps it was why for so long, neither felt they needed words to accompany these feelings.

"Do you want to lay down?"

Sybil smiled. "Whatever you want," she said, running her nails across his scalp. "Thank you," she whispered.

Tom laughed. "Do me a favor and grab the blanket from under my seat?"

Carefully, so as not to upset the balance between themselves, Sybil moved to grab for the item Tom referred to. At seeing the red flannel fabric, she smiled and she threw it at her best friend, causing them both to laugh as they remembered the day she insisted he take it with him, for a day she swore would someday come, stranding him on the side of the road in the snow.

"Nice blanket, jerk," Sybil let out.

"I was going to give it to you as a pillow, but…"

"I don't want a pillow," Sybil said, shaking her head. "Cover me up, will you?"

"And if I'm cold?"

"I'll share," she promised before dropping another kiss to his adam's apple.

Tom laughed. "Fine, but I'm gonna pull out, okay?"

"Mhm," she nodded, then looked down, watching as they disconnected. She sighed, and dropped her own head back, blinking up at the ceiling with her cheeks pulled high on her face, holding her smirk. Momentarily, she dropped her hand to the bridge of her nose, allowing her eyes to swim in darkness while the rest of her face continued to beam. Happy, she called it, and she knew he felt it too.

When he was done covering them up, he settled into the place behind her, and Sybil turned around so she could lay more easily on the narrow seat. Softly, she dropped her head to his chest and with her fingernail, began to draw circles on his breast bone, through the tufts of hair that grew there. As he watched her, Tom pushed back at her hairline and kissed the crown of her head. Sybil didn't respond though, and Tom squinted, before moving to angle her chin up toward him, with the help of his thumb.

"Where'd you go?"

"I'm just thinking…"

"About?"

"About Jonathan."

"Comforting," Tom rolled his eyes, turning his head to look out the back window.

"No," Sybil corrected. She pressed her palm to his cheek and brought him back down to her. "The really shitty thing is I think he actually likes me and I don't feel a thing for him. And I know that even if he was kind to you, I still wouldn't. I just don't. I feel nothing. Isn't that sad?"

"No," Tom laughed. "Makes sense to me."

Sybil looked at Tom and studied him, her eyes not daring to blink for fear of wiping the moment clean. Soon though, it seemed that she had gotten what she needed from him, and resolving, she dropped her head back to his chest. "Well, I think it's sad. Loving someone who doesn't love you back."

His best friend went on these tangents sometimes, revealing parts of herself that only he would ever see. Parts where she felt so much for others it hurt sometimes. Parts where sometimes, if Tom looked at her in the right way, just as he was now, he'd see how overwhelmed she was having a heart so large. Why was it so much easier to claim the rest of her, and leave her inner most thoughts and sacred feelings, ownerless? He swore that even she sometimes had no use for them.

Tom looked away. All he could do was blink. His mouth twitched and it seemed his lips wanted to move, but he said nothing and instead, could only shrug. "I mean, I imagine it sucks…"

"Yes," Sybil agreed with a sigh. "I'd imagine it does."

There was silence. It passed with several steady inhalations, ones that had both Sybil and Tom thinking far too much.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled into his chest. He was kissing her neck now and she was shocked to hear that the thought she was having were so easily shared under these circumstances. Most of the time, Sybil found herself silent. But lately, it seemed she couldn't shut her mouth. It was almost as if she was expecting him to stop listening, and if he did, she'd love him all the same, just as he did for her. Or, as a much scarier option, she wondered if one day she'd talk so much that she'd say the wrong thing, or rather, the right thing, something neither were ready to hear.

Tom picked his head up from her neck. He went to speak, but was soon lost again, moving back down to mollify the skin he had just marked. "For what?"

"I didn't want to go," she said. "I wanted to stay here."

"It's fine, Syb…" Tom dismissed, dropping his head back down.

This time though, Sybil wouldn't allow it. With both her hands, she palmed at his cheeks, bringing his gaze back to her. "No, Tom, I'm serious. I need you to believe me."

He chuckled. "I do believe you, love." And there it was, that word he used far too often when they were like this. Though spoken in the wrong context, it quickened the beat of her already thumping heart.

"Alright…" she sighed.

"Hey," he tried, not ready to lose her. "I believe you. I just don't want to talk about it. It's just you and me right now."

"Good," she tried. "I'm not ready to end this."

Another smile from Tom. "Me neither. Did you think…" Sybil nodded. "I don't want anyone else, Syb. I'm happy with this right now. You," he emphasized, "make me really happy."

Sybil forced a smile. "Please don't fuck other girls, alright?"

"Marci? Are you kidding?"

"No," Sybil corrected. "I'm not."

"Why would I shag Marci when I can have you?"

Sybil looked down. "Well don't make it sound so easy."

"It's not," Tom said cockily. "You know I like a challenge…"

"Is that what this is? Is that what I am?" Sybil asked. "A challenge?"

Tom thought for a moment. It always seemed that he couldn't describe what they were, and yet right now, the word challenge was fitting. "Yes, you're my challenge."

"Say it again," she whispered.

"What part?"

"Call me yours."

Tom sighed. "You're mine," he said simply before placing a kiss to her nose. "Is that what you want?"

_It's all I've ever wanted_, she wished to say. But the car remained quiet. Emotionless.

Instead, she dropped her head back down to his chest, hearing his heartbeat accompanied by the feel of his thumb caressing her shoulder, keeping her close and warm. Sybil shut her eyes, practically begging that sleep find her quickly. There she didn't have to think, or count the days when surely, this wouldn't all feel dreamlike: Tom so blatantly belonging to her and yet existing completely separate of everything she wanted him to be.

* * *

x. Elle


	18. Missing Her

**A/N:** This is my Holiday gift for **Pointless Things**. Christine requested a drabble that dealt with Tom's feelings while Sybil was away at school.

I hope this suffices, m'dear! It's a bit shorter than I would have liked but it just seemed to fit. Let me know what you think!

Enjoy! x

* * *

If you asked him, Tom thought he was doing well. Work was great - productive, mostly, and he had been spending a lot of time with many of his colleagues from the office, usually after work going to a local pub to discuss articles over a pint. As usual, he went to Downton for Sunday dinners, and on Tuesdays, he picked Max up from violin lessons as a favor to Mary and Matthew who then fed him a delicious home-cooked meal afterward. On one night, he drank just for an excuse to spend the night. Certainly not completely inebriated, he enjoyed the way he was not forced to sleep in a flat alone, and the way when he left to go home the following morning, the house was filled with the smell of tea and bangers. Here and there, he'd get breakfast with Edith and Anthony, and as birthdays began to pass during the year, the entire family would go out, just as they had tonight for Robert's fifty-third.

It was these moments that told him that he was not doing well. These nights of high energy and heavy socialization provided for some of the most heart wrenching realizations Tom had ever happened upon: he was not okay, and would most likely continue to be this way until Sybil arrived home. Loud dinners where family laughed and passed back dishes, then shared tea, worked in sharp juxtaposition to the quiet, sometimes cold atmosphere of his apartment, and the way only one side of his bed was ever slept on. They badgered her, and made remarks and sometimes even jokes about the way in which she missed him. Tom knew this because Sybil told him. What he wouldn't tell her was that he missed her just as much. He didn't have to; she could feel it - specifically in the way his "I love you" was always so slow, and his "goodbye" never quite long enough, as if he suddenly realized she was going to have to go and he no longer wanted to associate with her out of fear of the impending hurt.

Arriving home after dinner, Tom parked his car and walked slowly inside, hating the way the light in the foyer of his flat was dim and unwilling to warm up by the time he'd inevitably click it back off. His coat was draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and his keys were dropped in a bowl on the counter near where that morning's coffee cup still sat allowing a ring of caffeinated residue to form on the bottom of the mug.

He checked his messages as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Sybil still hadn't called and he did the math he always did, wondering what time it was in her world. Almost dinner time, but he surmised she was most likely still at the studio. He wondered what she had eaten that day, or if she had forfeited the subway for a cab out of laziness — something she had convinced him of on more than one occasion.

In his bedroom, Tom stripped himself of that day's armor; kicking off his trainers and ridding himself of the jeans and button-up he wore, eventually leaving him in just his briefs. If she was here, there'd be no need for this. It would be her hands and her mouth, welcoming his exposed skin as her fingertips wandered, coaxing him into more. They always slept naked, but now to do that without her seemed silly and pointless, like cheating.

Getting into bed, Tom clicked off the light and laid back, grabbing for his phone before his head even hit the pillow. Stiff and with slowed breathing, he began scrolling through his messages, reading emails he had missed while at dinner. He deleted the spam and replied in short text to people like Hunter and his coworkers. Sometimes Sybil would email him, feeling it was better instead of bothering him via text messages. His email was not pushed directly to his phone, so to email him and ask him how his day was, or if he remembered something ridiculous they had once done was to lack imposition and to keep herself from aching for him in the way his direct messages or hurried phone-calls always did.

Soon though, his phone rang, and a picture, one of Tom's favorites where Sybil had her tongue pressed flat against his cheek in jest appeared, reminding him of the last time they were together and how then it wasn't as easy to realize how difficult this all would be.

"Syb?" he breathed out. "Are you okay?"

What he heard first was her laugh, raspy and carefree, brushing against his ear as it created white noise across the line. "Yes, Tom, I'm fine. How are you?"

He exhaled. "Fine." And then quickly: "I miss you," he propositioned.

Sybil smiled, her eyes closing to savor the way such an admission sounded after a long day. "I miss you too. How was the dinner?"

"Eh," Tom shrugged. "You didn't miss anything, really. Max and I split this really good appetizer."

"And how did Papa like the gift you got him?"

Tom thought of the wallet he bought Robert, replacing the one Sybil's father had since before Tom and Sybil were born. The leather was worn and the pockets beginning to fray, causing his credit cards to slide out. About a month ago, Tom called Sybil on her lunch break and the two skyped while searching for a suitable replacement. Sybil merely purchased a card for her father, and sent him an email this morning wishing him a happy birthday. She wondered then why Tom was being so diligent, but then remembered that a reason was not required with her best friend; he was constantly caring, and always much more forgiving than she ever was. Because of this, Sybil wondered if the gift was for her father, or meant for her as a way of giving something to Robert in her absence.

"He liked it," Tom said. "I don't think he was expecting anything, really. It took him a while to react."

"Sounds familiar," Sybil quipped. "How is Max?"

"Good," Tom smiled. "He has that spelling bee coming up. I told him I'd go."

Sybil smiled too. "You're sweet, Tom Branson."

"He said he wished you were home. But I think he just wants to prove to you he's also a good speller…"

Sybil let out a small chuckle. "I won one spelling bee because that kid got sick. He's definitely a better speller than I am or ever was."

"Where do you think he gets it from?"

Again, Sybil laughed. "Are you saying the Crawley's are stupid?"

"No," Tom corrected. "Mary and Matthew are both intelligent. In different ways, but smart all the same. Max is just...motivated."

"Yes, he's a weird robot-like nine year old. We've discussed this…"

It was Tom's turn to laugh. "That's not what I meant. Nevermind."

"Hey," Sybil sassed, "Don't dismiss me like that. I know what you mean."

He sighed. "I wish you were here, Syb."

"I know," she agreed, her voice low and now, somewhat sad. "I'm home for Christmas soon."

"In about two months," Tom chuckled. The idea was funny too. Two months was not soon. Two days wouldn't be soon either. Nothing would be close enough.

"Don't do that, okay? It will be soon. How's work?"

"Not exciting enough to distract me."

"Please stop, Tom. I'm serious. I'm sad too. I miss you too. This isn't easy for me either. But you being sad and cynical isn't helping—"

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry," it came again.

With a sigh, Sybil softened. "I know," she practically whispered. "The girls make fun of me. I talk about you a lot apparently. Who knew?"

Tom forced a smirk. "I have a picture of you on my desk and the guys think that's weird."

Sybil quirked an eyebrow. "Why is that weird? I think that's sweet. I love that you have a picture of me on your desk."

"Good," Tom whispered. "Me too."

"I went to this cafe today and got this really good sandwich. You would have liked it…"

Tom tried to smile, but it was difficult, as if the muscles in his face were connected to his heart and they too were growing weak with her so far away. "What was it?"

"Ham and brie. But there was apple and cranberry spread on it too. Very you."

"Sounds delicious. How much did that cost? Forty?"

"Something like that," Sybil played. "Oooh! I saw your article in The Economist!"

"It was an edit."

"A good edit though! Tom, that's great! I cut it out! It's hanging on the corkboard above my bed. I'll have to show you it when you're here next."

Tom chuckled. He wished he could be as animated as she was now, but he found himself suddenly very willing to sulk. "

"But listen, I need to go grab food. I told Colin I'd be there at 5 and I'm already a bit late. Are you going to bed?"

Tom sighed. "I'm going to try."

"I wish I was there," she revealed softly. "I miss you. I miss my bed. I miss you in my bed…"

"Me too."

"Don't tease," Sybil whispered.

Tom smirked. "You started it."

For a second, they both thought the conversation might diverge and create an entirely new path, but to no avail. Again, Tom was left to sigh, hoping that in his exhale she'd have one last chance to reveal her true feelings, ones that unfortunately sounded so cheap coming across a long distance line. "Have a good dinner, alright? I love you, Syb."

"I love you too. Call me in the morning, alright?"

"Sure," he let out.

Sybil didn't dare say goodbye. The conversation was over now; it had actually ended several minutes before when the line first went quiet, neither wanting to delve into anything too deep in hopes that avoiding heavy topics would keep the end of the call from being so intensely painful. It was just like the dinner Tom had driven home from; the silence after all the noise seemed to be the most deafening.

Again, Tom checked his email. It was as if he was waiting for something to come — maybe an email from Sybil telling him she had forgotten to tell him something and that she'd be calling him again soon. His inbox was empty though, and Sybil had things to do and he really should be working on getting sleep.

As he closed his eyes, he thought about her, her warmth, the tight curve of her spine pressed so delicately into his front. By now, they'd most likely be laughing about something that had happened that day, or she'd turn over, facing him now, her lips seeking his out in the darkness. Her eyelashes would flutter, and he'd fight the urge he had to slip his hand beneath the soft cotton of her night shirt.

If he had her here though, Tom wouldn't allow any of that and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he really didn't mind the silence, he just missed having her here to enjoy it with him. If she was, his hand would still be on her hip, but she'd already be facing him. He wanted and needed to look at her, to breathe her in. He wanted to be able to press a soft kiss to the tip of her nose or the corner of her mouth. Tom didn't want hurried touches or breathless kisses, he wanted her eyes searching his as his did the same, drinking the moment despite the quiet. He wanted her falling asleep on his chest, or pressed softly into him. He wanted her hair falling onto his pillow, smelling of lavender, and her breath, warm and steady, coated in mint. He wanted her laughter and the way she made him feel safe and strong and whole. He didn't want the sex, he wanted the after: the still of a moment with just the two of them so comfortably in it.

* * *

x. Elle


	19. Dead Parent's Society

**A/N****:** This is my Holiday gift to the super, super sweet **sybbelle**! She requested a heart to heart between Max and Tom. To me, this is the conversation that should have happened through the bathroom door on the night Max found solace in the bathtub and wouldn't let anyone in…it's just three or so years late.

And I've kind of set up a possible sequel to this. Kudos if anyone knows what it is. I've had it in my mind for awhile and I think it'll be cute once I make the time to write it.

Enjoy! xx

* * *

"Why are you still awake?"

Tom turned to the archway, where up on a step, Max stood, a fleece blanket from his bed wrapped around his lanky frame. He stepped down and walked toward Tom, taking a seat on the couch across from where Tom sat on the armchair, his feet propped up on the nearby ottoman.

Tom smirked as he turned his attention back to his book. "I could ask you the same thing. It's almost one o'clock."

Max sighed. "I couldn't sleep."

Still reading, Tom let out a silent chuckle; merely a brush of air past his tired lips. "I see that."

"Why are you up?" Max tried, moving to sit now. The blanket he had wrapped around him remained as such, especially now as he pulled his legs up onto the couch, keeping them underneath his body for warmth.

"Sleep is a luxury for me. Always has been. And with Mads being sick, she's been a bit fitful while sleeping…"

Max nodded and a silence settled over them. As Tom continued to read his book, Max turned to the fireplace, wondering when the last time they had it on was. Then, a thought crossed his mind, or rather, refused to leave, and strongly made its intention known, crackling with the heat of the fire. "How do you explain to someone what it's like to lose someone they love?"

Tom furrowed his brows. Immediately the book in his hands was closed, slowly though, with his finger acting as a bookmark to keep his place. "Is this what's been keeping you up?"

"Well...sort of. You know how Sam's dad is away a lot? He's not in combat or anything, but he does work in these really dangerous areas. Like Mrs. Dawson is always getting calls from his job when he's gotten to his next location. And the other day she didn't get a call because he never arrived and they thought he was dead and it was really scary."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't really know what to do. Sam tried to act like he wasn't bothered. But, I mean, of course he was. And Mrs. Dawson assured him it would be fine, and it was, because eventually they got a call, but I think Sam was trying to be strong for her and he just got so cold. He didn't want to talk. Eventually though, he asked me what it's like...and I didn't know what to say."

"There's nothing you can say," Tom let out with a heavy sigh. "Just because you dealt with it one way doesn't mean that's how Sam will deal with it. You two are friends, but you're different people. I think you just hope they never have to go through it. That's enough. It's all you can do."

Another sigh from Max, and as he so often was, he moved on to his next thought, causing Tom to wonder if they existed organized in his mind in lists, ready to be sorted out on sleepless nights like this one. "Sometimes I think about my mum and dad it keeps me awake. I wonder what they'd be doing if they were here. I wonder if they'd be proud of me or if I should be doing other things…"

"You're thirteen, Max. What things should you be doing?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged. "Do you ever think like that?"

"Sybil tries not to let me." He laughed as he thought about what he was going to say next. "She, uh, she somehow knows when my mind goes there, because she distracts me from it."

"Why do people do that?"

"Well she does it because she loves me. If I get sad, she gets sad too." Then, Tom looked to Max. "So don't let her catch you thinking like that…"

"It's not bad to think about them though. And just because I don't think about it doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's like everyone toes this line of wanting you to feel nothing and everything at the same time..."

"It's not bad to think about them, no, but I don't think your mum and dad would want those thoughts keeping you awake either."

"They don't," Max tried. "Well, most of the time they don't," he faltered.

"Here's the thing, Max. You've dealt with all of this really, really well. Much better than I ever did—"

"Sometimes I forget you ever had parents," Max blurted out.

Tom's forehead creased in confusion. "What?"

"I mean, I never knew your mum. I've only ever known you as mum's adopted brother or as Aunt Sybil's best friend. It's just weird to me sometimes. You're so strong. Mum used to say that all the time...and she knew your mum. You just act like they never existed…"

Max's intention wasn't to make Tom cry. In fact, if Tom had to guess, he was actually trying to pay him a compliment. Intent, in this household, however, rarely equated to perception. The execution of all good deeds and deep conversations were often lost in the obsession this family had with the past, an obsession they had no control over, one marked by birth and death dates so closely intermingled on the calendar in their minds.

Still, for as highly revered as Tom always was to Max, Tom found himself jealous of the young boy, wishing he could feel in the way in which he did. It was easier not to miss your parents if you pretended they never existed. But sometimes Tom was forced to remind himself: _My dad is dead. My mam is dead. My parents are dead and I am all alone._

But he wasn't alone. And this living room, lit only by the fireplace and the lights on the nearby Christmas tree, was warm. The couch beside him was cozy, and occupied by a boy he respected and loved very much. Upstairs, Sybil slept soundly, their sick daughter curled into her side as the two did their best to get sleep after a long day at war with a stomach virus. All of it, even the uncertainty, acted to remind Tom that he was not alone and never had been. Even before he was orphaned, Tom had Sybil, and if it were up to him, he'd always have her. Her, and Max, and Madeline were his world now.

Tom found, just as Max soon would, that your life can be everything you've ever wanted, but you'll still feel yourself filling up with pockets of emptiness. In particular, sometimes your throat would tighten and tears would paint your cheeks as everything you tried to move past, suddenly resurfaced. Because even when you're a parent, and when you've found things that mark your own life, your old life and the person you were as a child, always remains.

"Tom?" Max asked, leaning forward. "I'm sorry—"

Tom pinched at the bridge of his nose, blinking back sadness as he tried to calm his own breathing. He tried to remember the last time he cried. Several years ago, he was sure, and only Sybil was there. Really, she was the only person he ever let see him like this. Her, and now Max. Madeline too, someday, he was sure.

"I'm fine," Tom exhaled. "I just...I'm sorry if it seems like that."

"I don't care," Max said simply. "Well, I mean, if you do then I do. But like you said, we all deal with it differently. If that's your way of dealing with it then that's fine, I think…"

"I don't like to," Tom began, "but I think about what my mum would think about all of this," Tom mentioned, nodding toward the room as if to say: _this life, my family_. "My dad too, but I was young when he passed. But my mum was this really great person—"

Max smiled. "Kind of like granmamma Martha, right? That's what Sybil says…"

"A bit, yeah," Tom agreed. "But a bit softer. She was better at biting her tongue. But if she was silent, you really knew you did something wrong."

"Do you think she'd like me?" Max asked honestly.

In return, Tom smiled. "She'd love you, bud. She was a big kisser. Loved hugs, too."

"No way!" Max let out.

"Yeah," Tom nodded. "Crazy, right? You and Mads would be the light of her life. She always wanted me to find a good girl and have kids. Even when I was…" Tom's voice trailed off a she did the math. "Fourteen."

"Sybil's a good girl."

"Sybil's the best girl," Tom corrected. "My mum would be proud of me. I have a great life, Max, but yeah, I wish my mum could see some of it now. How far Sybil and I have come. I wish she could meet you and Mads. I just think about you guys and how much you're missing out on, not knowing them."

"Can I ask a question?"

Tom nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Do you ever wish they died together?"

Tom thought for a minute. "Like your mum and dad?"

"Yeah," Max swallowed.

"I wish my dad was here for a little while longer. I didn't really know him. But I guess it was good that when I lost him, mum was there to help me through it…"

"What?"

"When you have kids, Max, you'll understand. I used to wonder how she did it. If I ever lost Sybil…" Tom choked up. He raised a hand as if to dismiss the thought. "I couldn't imagine how she could lose her husband and worry about me...but she did. But in a way, I wish they did go together. Because I know somewhere in heaven, my dad was worrying about her, and I don't want that for him or for her. That was a lot of pain for one person to carry. I could have handled it."

"Why did you guys let me believe I could handle it?"

"You believed that all on your own, trust me. And you couldn't. But neither could we. When my mum died, I got the same way. I thought I had to be strong. I thought I had to prove something to the world. But at the end of the day, you can be as strong or as weak as you want, but you'll still be a kid without parents. I learned you just have to take the days as they come. Some days were great. Other days, I couldn't get out of bed."

"Does it get better?"

"It does and you know that. Again, Sybil helped. Just like we tried to help you."

"You did," Max nodded.

"Well, we tried. But it's such a personal thing, Max. And I look back and I get really mad at myself, because you kind of have to go through it on your own. I did. You did. Kids without parents everywhere do."

"I ask myself sometimes why my parents had to die, you know? Or why I wasn't in the car too, and if I was, if I would have passed with them? And I don't have any of those answers. But I like to think sometimes that even though I don't know why they died, I know that I lived because God or whoever else knew I could handle it."

"Are you mad at them for leaving you here?"

"No," Max shook his head. Tom studied his face, and in feeling the intensity of his eyes, Max continued. "I had you and Sybil and my grandparents and everyone else. Mum and dad had a plan." But then he turned the question around: "Were you mad at your parents for leaving you here?"

"I used to be really mad at my mum. First I didn't know where I was going to go. Then, I moved into Downton. That was a hard adjustment…" Tom said. As he did, he thought of all the fights he had gotten into with both Robert and Cora. In particular, one that had Sybil crawling into his bed, holding him close as he cried, explaining to her how much he hated it here and just wished he and his mum could go back to Ireland.

"Do you think you and Sybil would have fallen in love if it weren't for your mum dying?"

The question brought Tom out of his reverie. "I don't know," Tom said simply. "I really don't. Eventually, sure, but I think it might have taken a bit longer. It helped going through all of that, just like somehow your mum and dad passing helped to bond us further. And then we got you, and Mads came shortly after that. Life just kept pushing and I think instead of giving in, we just turned to each other. It was all we could do. If things beyond your own control are going to happen, you might as well find the good in them..."

"I think you would have."

"Yeah, well you're a bit of a romantic. You get that from your dad. Crawley women aren't really—"

"And what about you? Sybil thinks you're romantic."

"Sybil is a bit of a dreamer. That's what love is, bud. Makes you see things in people that aren't there."

"I don't think that's what love is," Max said with a laugh. "I'm actually pretty sure that's not how it works. I just think it's easy to see the things someone might otherwise hide from the rest of the world."

Tom smirked. "Sure. Something like that."

"Um, excuse me boys, but one of you should be in bed."

Both Max and Tom turned to the archway where an exhausted-looking Sybil stood. She wore a pair of flannel sleep shorts and one of Tom's slouchy jumpers. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun atop her head, and the wool socks she wore covered her abused feet, making it easy for her to glide across the tiled floor before dropping down onto the carpet to approach her family.

Max turned to Tom and nodded toward the door. "You heard her. Go to bed," he quipped, causing even a tired Sybil to let out a small chuckle.

Sybil leaned forward and studied her nephew. "You okay?" she asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. "Please don't tell me you also feel sick..."

"No way!" Max corrected, sounding as if he was offended by such a question. "Just couldn't sleep."

"Mhm. What's your excuse?" she asked, turning back to Tom.

"Our daughter kicked me in the face, actually. Woke me right up..."

"Yeah, well that daughter is asking for you now. She's very uncomfortable, Tom."

Tom softened. "I know. I'm sorry. You two were just sleeping and—"

Sybil reached forward to touch a soft palm to her best friend's face. "I know, love. And you need to get some sleep too. I'm going to make her some tea. If you wanna go lay with her, I'd really appreciate it. I want to wash her sheets."

"Gross. This whole house is infected," Max grumbled as he moved to stand.

"Not this whole house," Sybil corrected. "I disinfected your room while you were at school, thank you very much." She had started for the kitchen but stopped, turning back to look at Max. "Is your homework done?"

Max blinked. "Always."

"Even your reading?" Sybil asked. "I know English isn't your favorite and I saw how you did on your last test and—"

"Sybil, he's doing fine." Tom tried, thinking of the almost perfect mark and how insulted Sybil was by it. He knew though, that her personal offense was done as a favor to Mary and Matthew, and not out of her own disappointment.

"He can do better," Sybil said, her eyes not daring to look away from her nephew.

Max felt his aunt's intensity and looked away. "Fine."

Though he'd never be her son, Max was her child now. This idea existed also in the food she allowed Max to eat while Madeline was mostly fed locally grown, organic dishes. When Max's seventeenth birthday came around and he asked for a car, despite Sybil and Tom wanting to make him work for it and lease one himself, they'd instead buy him one, just as they were sure Mary and Matthew would have done.

With her mission complete, Sybil went off to the kitchen, leaving Max and Tom to both trudge up the stairs, the both of them mumbling about how it was impossible for her to always be so accurate in her perceptions of things, a skill she had only honed since they all first became a family.

* * *

It's full speed ahead with the rest of these drabbles until Christmas...which is eight days away WHAT THE ACTUAL EFF?!

x. Elle


	20. The Second Time

**A/N****:** This is my Christmas gift to one of my absolute favorite people in the whole entire universe, the hella talented **angiemagz**! MY GURL. No, but seriously, Angie is such a great friend and she deserves this drabble and a million more...

Enjoy! x

* * *

With Robert and Cora in London for the weekend, Downton was quiet. Mrs. Patmore prepared a simple braised pork chop dinner for Sybil and Tom who ate the meal down in the dining room just as they would have if her parent's were home. Everything was chaperoned by Carson and Mrs. Hughes, neither trusting either teenager enough to clean up, or even serve themselves. Still though, when the meal was complete, with only a few crumbs hitting the floor below, Tom and Sybil brought their dishes down to the kitchen. Carson and Mrs. Hughes followed, carrying with them all of the platters of food. As they began to tidy the kitchen, Tom and Sybil took their time in the pantry, grabbing for snacks they'd now eat when they went up to Sybil's room to work on calculus homework.

Heading up the grand staircase, both were made aware of just how alone they were, and in noticing this, Tom grabbed for Sybil and pulled her in, his mouth immediately making contact with the curve of her neck, the expanse of which she gave to him all too willingly as her eyes rolled upward in a show of amusement.

"Did you miss me?" she sing-songed.

Since their first time sleeping together, nearly a week ago, the playful nature between them escalated, eradicating all of the tension they had previously allowed to exist amongst themselves. This all happened in words, but up until recently, neither Sybil nor Tom acted on their urges. It was only last night that she tiptoed down the hallway and invited herself in his bed. There, fingers danced over night clothes all too innocently as their mouths met, animalistically at first, needing and wanting, before lulling them both to sleep, Tom wishing Sybil a soft "goodnight" with a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her body was on fire, and even sleeping soundly beside him, his arm draped around her waist, pulling her in, Sybil found she wanted more. The more she thought about it, the easier it was to realize she craved him. Not just the way his eyes and hands had loved her, but the way he made her feel beyond all of that as he told her how beautiful she was and meant it each and every time.

Sybil laughed as she pushed Tom away, an action that meant she wished him to push further. He did, but only once the both of them were up onto the landing, her still carrying their snacks as she giggled and did her best to make it to her room before he could catch her.

Once inside, the snacks were dropped to the floor with no attention paid to the way the crisps were crushed by the bottles of water Tom had grabbed.

Perhaps Sybil thought they'd just make out again. If that were the case, that'd be fine. Just as she had last night, she'd want more, but she wasn't ready to force him into anything he wasn't comfortable with. If she knew his intention, that is, if Tom were better at openly flaunting his desires, she'd give him all he wanted and more. He could have her, over and over again, if that's what it would take for her to show him she loved him. Surely he knew by now, Sybil thought. God only knows she hadn't stopped thinking about it since they first made love.

Immediately, Sybil stepped into Tom, bringing him with her as the two stumbled backward toward her bed. "Is this okay?" she asked.

Tom searched her face for an answer. He could only continue to nod, wondering if this was a test and if instead he should be asking her the same thing. "Yeah," he practically whispered, before seizing her lips once again. Sybil gave in, her arms seeking him out as well as her hands found the back of his head, fisting in his hair. She allowed the interruption, and the quiet that soon accompanied it. Too many moments where their lips were parted seemed to be a scary prospect as both feared the words that would fill in the silence.

In one swift motion, Sybil fell back onto the bed. Tom fell with her and all of his weight, especially the hardness of his still-growing erection, pushed into her hip as they finally detached. "Shoes," Sybil mumbled, pulling away. It was a good idea too. Sybil had gone through this exact scenario so many times in her head. As if they existed only in a cinematic-like world, she expected everything to be easy and smooth. What she instead found was that sex, and making love with Tom was a lot of fumbling, and awkward moments where they both told each other what they wanted. Even the last time, (the first and only time, Sybil thought) had them both waiting, afraid of offending the other with actions that were made in haste, and without permission. This was not anything like the movies and she doubted it ever would be. There'd forever be trainers to kick off, and just as Tom was moving to do now, her skinny jeans always got caught around her ankles. He never said anything. In fact, Tom sometimes avoided his best friend's eyes in these moments, causing Sybil to wonder if he was ashamed of his falter. For once, he couldn't impress her with his charming, suave ways. But he did, and in realizing this, it was Sybil's turn to avoid his gaze. He could be as silly and as unsure as he pleased, just as long as he continued to love her in this way. After all, that was the fun of it, and she never wanted this to become calculated and dry. All of it, the exploration and the newness, had her constantly thinking of him, and hoping subsequently that he was also thinking of her.

They were just in their underwear now. Naked was fine too, but Sybil liked them like this. It was nice to be as they were now, kissing and touching as they breathed in heavily through their noses. This was what fifteen was supposed to look like and though they'd past this point it was generous of life to allow them to stay here for awhile, each of them mustering the courage to allow their hands, and sometimes mouths, to go beneath these final coverings.

"Are you cold?" Tom asked, pulling away.

Quickly, Sybil shook her head. "No, why?"

"Your tits...breasts," he corrected, earning him a sly smile from Sybil, "are hard as rocks."

Sybil looked away then back to Tom, her usually plump lips pulling into a puckered smirk. "Are they hurting you?"

"No," Tom said calmly. "Are they hurting you?"

"No," she laughed out loud. "You're so odd."

"You're odd," he spat back.

Then, it dawned on her. "Do you not want to do this?" Sybil asked. "Is that what you're doing? Are you buying time?"

"No!" his insistence came quickly. "I want to. I've wanted to since…" His voice trailed off.

Sybil softened as she nodded. With her arms still lazily draped around his neck, she pulled him back down to her. Then, with her lips moving against his, she whispered a simple: "Me too," before kissing him again.

Hesitantly, Tom's hands rested atop Sybil's hips. The curve of his fingers held onto the way her bones pulled her skin taut, and it wasn't until Sybil began moving beneath him, that the intensity and overall comfort of his grip grew.

"Beautiful," he muttered. It was starting to become her favorite word, and the more he said it, the more she wished to hear it again.

Abruptly, Sybil sat up, causing Tom to watch as she looked down to her cleavage. Her tiny fingers played with the front of her bra, eventually unclasping the material, causing each cup to flap open and sit near her shoulders.

"Fuck, what is that?"

"A bra," Sybil stated with a simple laugh. "You would have never figured it out so I…"

She couldn't finish though. Already, Tom had covered one of her breasts with his hand, the other moving to rid her of the constraint completely. Just the other day, she forfeited even wearing such a garment, and yet when they were intimate, she always seemed to have one on. It made Tom laugh, but also wonder if she was planning anything for those other days, or if in her early morning laziness, she just forgot.

Tom's obsession with her body was much more pronounced than her love for his. Though Sybil enjoyed the roundness of his backside and already how broad his shoulders were, she was much more coy about showing it. He, on the other hand, made no qualms about wearing wide eyes as he drank her in, obsessed really with her willingness to give herself to him like this, and not with her in general.

Naked from the waist up, Tom scooped Sybil up and pushed them both back, so that neither of their lower limbs touched the ground below, or even threatened to hang off the bed. Here, with him still on top, Tom could better enjoy the feeling of her pert chest pushing up into him. Likewise, Sybil was glad to be rid of her bra, especially now as Tom leaned down and began peppering her shoulder blades with kisses.

She giggled, and Tom looked to her. Sybil only shook her head. "Keep going," she urged. It was cute, she wanted to tell him. No such words would ever leave her mouth. Not yet.

He did continue, moving down each arm, then lifting one, kissing down her side then back to her navel where his tongue darted in, then out, before sucking, mollifying the skin despite the red wetness it left behind.

Without warning, he needed her again. Her eyes looking at him like this had suddenly come to be too much, and he needed them closed, an action he could only achieve if he gave her his lips pressed firmly atop her own just as their bodies currently were. Once again, one of his hands caressed and fondled her breasts, the other moving down to part her legs so even atop her underwear he could feel the heat and wetness radiating from the apex of her thighs.

"Fuck, Syb…"

His voice, previously carefree, now held a husky tone. The way in which his eyes shifted from her waist to her own glare had them both speechless. In noticing this, Sybil breathed out, causing Tom to breathe in, before distracting himself once again by the valley of her chest.

Slowly, he lapped at the same skin he had just applied pressure to. His mouth, wet and warm, then took a nipple into his mouth, causing Sybil's lips to part into a soft "Ahhh…"

He smirked against her skin but continued in his action, taking the other nipple into his mouth, leaving the cool air surrounding them to paint her skin in goosebumps.

"You okay?" Tom asked, finally lifting his head.

Sybil's eyes were closed, and the grip she had on Tom's head was steady, but now more loose than it was before. She could only nod through the sensations his mouth had left her, all of which were tingling up and down her spine, making her feel more alive than she ever had before.

Proud, and never quite feeling he deserved all she had to offer, Tom moved back to the valley of her breasts, kissing at the skin before running the tip of her tongue down the center of her stomach. In reaction, Sybil pressed her body further into the mattress, causing her skin to shy away from him as her abdomen went concave, pulling taut around her ribcage. This was where his fingers found solace, tapping at her bones, willing her to breathe as his mouth moved atop her.

Finally, at the hem of her underwear, Tom paused. With his thumbs, he slipped inside the soft cotton, feeling now the way in which Sybil's eyes bore into him, just waiting for what he'd do next. If he had been bolder, he would have used his teeth, but this was safer, and with gentle hands, he pulled her underwear off. Shyly, Sybil kept her knees together as Tom threw the small fabric over his shoulder, not caring where it landed as they surely wouldn't be interrupted the following morning.

"Stop being so shy," Tom whispered. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Sybil said quickly. "Of course I do."

And she did, though not enough for her or any girl to prepare herself for what he had in mind. It was not Tom's hands that wished to touch Sybil, but his mouth, and as he moved to kiss her center, Sybil clamped her legs together, stiffly keeping Tom in place.

"Jesus, Syb!"

"What are you doing?" she whispered harshly.

"Why are you whispering?" he returned, much in the same tone. Then, a sigh. "I'm going to go down on you, is that okay?" he sassed at a normal volume. As soon as the words left his mouth, he thought twice, wondering if he should have asked more sincerely.

"Why are you doing that?"

Tom couldn't stifle the chuckle that bubbled up into his throat and then coated his lips. "Because I want to make you feel good," he said. "Because you deserve to feel good…" The latter statement was much more serious and in hearing it, Sybil had to swallow, choking back everything she was currently thinking, things like: _I love you_ and _Please don't ever leave me_.

Sybil was still silent, but slowly, she allowed her legs to fall apart, an action that came easily due to all of the dancing she usually did and the stretches that usually occurred before it.

"If I say stop, you stop, alright?"

Tom sighed. "That's our rule anyway—"

"It is?"

"Well isn't it?" Tom threw back. "Besides, you're not going to say stop. Trust me…"

He gave no warning. Really, he didn't need to. Beyond her apprehension, there was the utmost trust here, and though Tom would never admit it, he took his time, first running two fingers up and down her well-lubricated slit. It reminded him, that perhaps they had gone a bit fast last time. The memory of her, the blood on the condom and her face pulling into a wince, was enough to make Tom want to stop all of this. But as she assured him that night, and now in the way that she trusted him with this part of her, he found he wasn't as weary as he maybe should have been. This wasn't about her, and forever about everything she was to him. He'd tell her. Not with words, but with his mouth, that which was leaning in, ready to suckle on the bundle of nerves between her legs.

With her head almost atop a pillow, Sybil's eyes closed. It wasn't electric right away, but soon, her whole body was on fire, and her breathing had quickened in pace, becoming louder as it did so.

"Tom…" she tried.

"Syb, I've got you. Relax, okay?"

"You don't know me!" she spat. Tom couldn't help it, and let out a large laugh. "That's good, Tom. Life tip number one: when you've got your head between a girls legs, just start laughing…real nice…"

"Syb, calm down, okay? It's just you and me. You can make as much noise as you want—"

"Who says I'm going to make noise?"

"Well if you don't shut up, you're right, you might not."

"Ha ha," she gave back.

"Listen," Tom sighed. "If you don't want me to, that's fine."

"Well do you want to? I don't want to make you—"

"Hell yes, I want you to. I wanted to the other night but I didn't want to scare you. I want to make you feel good. That's what this is, right?"

"It's not just about me…" Sybil said, looking away.

"Fine," Tom accepted. "We can do that later too. Whatever you want…"

As Tom returned to his earlier action, the air around them began to crackle. Just as it always had been, this was a competition. Before, it was about who could conceal their feelings for the longest. Though that game was still played, it had also grown, now to include them both wishing to reveal those same feelings, wishing to please the other better. It was a conjoined effort though, and just as Tom had said, he wanted to do this, if only Sybil would relax long enough to allow it.

Soon, Sybil's breathing quickened again, brushing past her lips, drying them, as each of her hands pushed down on his head. Her fingernails scraped at his scalp, then with each passing wave, became much more delicate in their actions before inevitably tensing up again.

When her mind was slowed down enough to comprehend what was going on, Sybil realized it was not just Tom's mouth, but his fingers that pleasured her as well. He had three inside of her, pumping in and out just as she hoped he lated would. Though this was intimate, she craved the way in which they had attached themselves to one another last week. Surely, and she was sure Tom knew this as well, she would not feel as elated as she currently did with him loving her in this way. Making love, she was fulfilled in other ways, mostly in the content look on his face, and the way he held her as they moved against one another.

"Ohhhh," Sybil breathed out.

Hearing this, Tom could only smile. She wasn't as relaxed as he would have liked, but he liked that this was difficult for her. If it was difficult for her with him, he was sure she'd never let herself get this far with any other man.

Again, and also without warning, Tom pulled Sybil's legs, making it so at the knee, they bent down over the side of her bed. This allowed him to kneel before her, his mouth still at the apex of her thighs, teasing between sucking and licking. One arm kept a steady grip on her, wrapping around her thigh so his palm could rest right on her stomach, applying just an ounce of pressure to make each sensation just that much stronger.

She giggled, then dropped her head back as the electricity in her stomach grew.

"Let go, Syb," he whispered. "I'm right here."

It felt different. The ministrations of his mouth were different from the pleasure his cock gave her, and she was sure that if she gave in, it would be much more loudly and intense than when they had first been together. Then, it wasn't faked, but it wasn't this strong either. Those were merely tinglings, now, she felt as if her whole body was electric, and ready to spark into a flame at any moment.

"Fuck, Tom," she made out. "Goddddd…" she moaned, dropping her head back again. Sybil wanted to watch him, but to concentrate in that way was to stay rigid. She'd let go, she decided, but to benefit him and not herself.

Finally, Sybil let out a breathy moan, one that became louder the more Tom continued his motions against her. His mouth had taken a break from her clit, instead running up and down her lower lips with his tongue while his fingers continued to pump in and out of her, this time curling upward, hitting her most sensitive spot.

A loud, guttural groan was the confirmation Tom needed to know that he had finally pushed her off the edge, and ironically enough, was there to catch her. As she began to shake, her breathing became even more erratic, until eventually she was heaving, her entire body practically rising up from the mattress as she moved to cover her face.

Tom stood up and went to lay beside her. "Syb? You okay?" he asked, his words coated in amusement.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what—"

"Are you kidding?" Tom asked genuinely. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Slowly, Sybil dropped her hands from her face, resting both of them on her stomach. "What?"

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding now, his eyes wide. "Totally sexy," he added before giving her a sloppy kiss.

Sybil couldn't help but to smile. She kissed him back, even going as far as to tease him with her tongue. When they pulled apart, she dropped her forehead to his. "Thank you," she whispered. All of her was still warm and crimson.

Tom kissed her forehead. "Are you sleepy now?"

"No," Sybil said, shaking her head quickly. "I want you inside of me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

Abruptly, Tom scooped Sybil up into his arms and practically threw her on the bed. In response to the bounce of the mattress, her body was jolted, and she laughed, officially understanding what it was like to love someone so fully and to respect who they are, both as individuals and based on the way they treated you, that they can do no wrong. It made things like this easy, she imagined. She'd say she knew, but she didn't. The truth was, she had always loved Tom, even before when she was too young to really grasp what love was. She loved him then and she loved him now — young and naked and free.

Sybil sat up, vowing as she did to never once be shy in this way again. He could have all of her, and she'd give her all of him, if it meant he always made her feel this good. In the weeks that followed, she realized she constantly wished to be naked with him, if only so his fingertips could love her skin when his mind and heart could not.

Ready to do what she was about to, Tom kneeled. With her hands on his hips, she stopped him, running her palms beneath his boxer-briefs to rid him of the soft cotton which she then pushed down his thighs and helped him to kick off.

It felt right with the two of them both fully exposed, and Tom found himself melting back into Sybil, gripping the back of her neck in want as he kissed her passionately. Their kisses seemed to last forever, reminding Sybil of their earlier jaunt, and the one they had the night before, all of it so innocent. It would have remained as such, had she not been distracted, her eyes feasting on his length as she grabbed for him and angled him toward his center.

"Go slow, alright?"

"You go slow," Tom quipped back. "You're the one getting handsy."

"Are you complaining?"

"No," Tom stated confidently. "Never," he said, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

Poised at her center, Tom looked down. He had one hand on the pillow above her head, and the other on Sybil's hip. Her body was still glistening in the glow of her orgasm, and he wished to meet her there, but also didn't want to rush any of this.

"Okay, not that slow," Sybil said. "I have plans for later."

"Oh, really?" Tom asked, finally moving to look at her.

"Yeah," Sybil shot back. But then: "I want to do this more than once…"

Tom met her joke with several kisses to the face, ones she deflected and laughed through, until he finally pushed inside of her, causing her to break away and close her eyes as once again, her body got used to the sensation.

It was a bit different from before, something Tom could only blame on the experience he had given to her prior. Her body was even more wet, and more warm, making it easier for him to move in and out of her.

"Fuck," he said. "Condom." And went to move, but Sybil stopped him. "It's fine. I haven't gotten my period in a couple months. We'll be fine…"

Tom searched her face. "Are you sure? I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

"No," Sybil said, reaching up to caress his cheek. "It's okay. Really."

"Alright," he said breathily, before seizing her lips once again.

This was how they remained, their hips meeting as they were attached at the lips, fingers walking up and down the length of one another's arms and necks, shoulderblades and stomachs. Without words, both were ready to admit that it was never quite close enough and the angle at which they met, while fine, was never quite right. They vowed then, to perfect it, a conversation about practicing coming up even after they both climaxed, Sybil coming right after Tom released inside of her.

Lazy, and with smiles on their faces, both collapsed onto their backs, each arm splaying out as they both blinked up at the ceiling.

"Forgive me," Sybil said, rolling her head against her pillow to see Tom more clearly. "But that was much better than last time."

"I agree," Tom nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "I think we can even make it better before your parents come home."

"Definitely," Sybil agreed. Then: "Can I blow you?"

"What?" Tom asked, letting out a high pitched laugh.

"To return the favor."

Tom looked to Sybil, his eyes narrowing as if to try and better see what she wouldn't reveal. "I didn't do that as a favor, Syb...I meant what I said, okay? I wanted to make you feel good."

"And what if I want to make you feel good?"

"You just did," Tom said simply.

"I'm sure it's not that hard," Sybil said casually.

"Well, actually…" Tom began, causing Sybil's eyes to widen and her arm to reach over and smack his shoulder as she realized they were both discussing different things. "You can blow me anytime, Sybil Crawley."

"Oh, what an honor!" Sybil faked.

"Hey," Tom softened. Their sarcasm and laughter was welcomed always, even when they both lay naked and tired atop Sybil's soft lavender duvet. Still, this type of joking seemed a bit ill-placed and in a calculated move, Tom wished to remind them of their potential. "C'mere," he muttered, extending his arm so Sybil could lean into him. All too willingly, she did, her arm tucked underneath her body as her head rested atop his chest where her fingernail also ran circles along his sternum.

"Thanks," she said, looking to him. "I know I said it already but I mean it. Thank you…"

"You know I'd do anything for you, Syb."

"Yeah, but that's beyond anything. Most guys…" she sighed. "Nevermind. Just thank you."

Satisfied, Tom smirked. "Anytime, love."

"Are you tired?"

"A bit."

"Can we nap for a little while? And then when we get up, I promise…"

"Blowjob of the century. Right."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Sybil choked out. It caused Tom to mentally take a step back. He was clearly trying to keep the mood light, but his best friend, it seemed, had other plans. "You're going to have to show me…"

"Alright," Tom agreed. "But first, you and me together again."

It was Sybil's turn to smile. "No argument there."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this, Angie! Any guesses for the fic I have planned for your birthday now? It's obvious right? Only if you want it, of course…

Thanks for reading! :]

x. Elle


	21. When?

**A/N****:** This is my Holiday Gift to the flawless **fstopsteph**! Such a sweetheart and someone I'm so lucky to have as a reader and friend. She requested a drabble dealing with when Maddie was conceived.

I hope you enjoy this, Steph! I'm in the process of working on one of the other prompts you gave me but in the meantime, I hope this suffices.

* * *

"Mmm," Sybil mumbled, pulling away from Tom's embrace. Her hands danced in the hairs at the back of his neck and her mouth had already moved to a smile, loving this view of him, even if the angle was now different due to her pregnancy. "I miss this sometimes."

"Kissing me?" Tom asked.

"No," Sybil said with a breathy laugh. "Just making out. Just being teenagers."

"But we're twenty now," Tom corrected. "We haven't been teenagers for awhile…"

"But it's nice to remind ourselves that we still can be stupid like this…"

Tom tilted his head down and narrowed his eyes as if to question his girlfriend's statement. "So now my kisses are stupid?"

"Okay, you know what?" Sybil wound up, her voice rising in pitch. She let out a laugh and then continued. "I'm trying to pay you a compliment. I'm trying to pay us a compliment and you're ruining it!"

Tom blinked and Sybil laughed again. "You love me," he said simply.

"I do," Sybil admitted, now dropping her head down to Tom's chest.

"I have a question."

"Alright," Sybil said, her face still pressed into her best friend's shirt, moving as his chest rose and fell with each passing breath. "You may ask it."

Tom laughed, and Sybil's head bounced, his chest now heaving lightly. "When do you think it happened?"

"What?"

"I mean, is that weird to ask? To be curious about?" Tom continued.

Sybil sat up, leaning now on her outstretched hand, pushing into the mattress they laid on with all of her weight, that which now included their daughter. "What are you talking about?"

"The baby."

"Oh," Sybil laughed. "You're asking when I think she was conceived?" Tom nodded and Sybil smiled, moving to settle back into Tom's side, a task that was a bit of a challenge now with her changing shape.

"Is that weird?"

Sybil shook her head. "I don't think so." Then: "It's nice that we have options," she said slyly.

"We do," Tom agreed, also liking the fact. "How many weeks is it again?"

"Oh god," Sybil thought. "I'm awful with all of that."

"Math was never your strong suit."

"Yeah," Sybil agreed. "When Max gets old enough, let's have him deal with our finances, alright?"

"Yeah," Tom chuckled. "That'll go over well."

Sybil looked to her best friend, her expression unchanging. "There was a bit of truth in that suggestion."

Again, Tom laughed. "Sadly, in a few years, he'll probably understand it better than we do…"

"Alright," Sybil said, sitting up again. "Hand me your phone."

"Why my phone?"

"Weekly porn check," she stated simply. When Tom didn't laugh, she continued. "And also, I want to see when I conceived."

"When we conceived," Tom corrected. "I was there too…"

Sybil looked to Tom, her eyes blinking as her mouth dropped open. "You were?"

"Ha Ha," Tom let out. Sitting up, he grabbed for his phone from his bedside table and handed it to Sybil. "You weren't complaining then."

Sybil dropped her hands and looked away from the phone screen. "We don't even know when it was!"

"Are you kidding me?" He leaned into her and breathed out, his mouth pressing a hot kiss to her neck. "Trust me, love, you've never been quiet."

Sybil smirked and returned her attention to Tom's phone where on the screen, she was tapping at dialog boxes, changing the numbers to match that of her due date. When she was finished, she swiped at the screen with her thumb and clicked "Calculate" watching as the page changed, revealing a new one, now with several different dates.

"Well?" Tom asked.

"This is merely an estimate…"

"Alright."

"It says the first week of August but…"

All too quickly, Tom dropped his head back to laugh. "That was our first week in this house."

"We were exhausted," Sybil gave.

"Yeah, but we were also out of Downton. We didn't have to worry about anyone walking in. And Max sleeps like a log…"

"Oh," Sybil let out, dropping her head down into her palms. "That poor kid."

"Syb, he's fine. Wait until he's older. Teenage boys are gross."

"You're gross," she shot back.

"I didn't have to be gross. I had you."

"Ew," Sybil said, her nose scrunching up in disgust. "You're still gross. You've always been gross."

"You're beautiful too, Syb."

She smiled. "Thanks, baby," she said, flashing him a giant smile, one he only laughed off as he looked away, his arms still stiffly crossed over his chest to show his stance on the issue.

"Speaking of 'ew', did you know sperm can live inside of me for 3 to 5 days?"

"Inside of you, or inside of women in general?"

Sybil rolled her eyes and pushed at Tom's chest in an attempt to reprimand him for asking such a stupid question. "Women, smartass."

"I don't know," Tom shrugged. "Maybe you have a secret talent you've never told me about. If so, imagine all of my—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Sybil said loudly, hushing Tom. "Not with the baby in the room. We talked about this, remember? No arguing, no bad music, and no cussing or vulgarity."

"Can we reinstate the cussing one once she's here? I don't know how much longer I can go without saying wank or…"

"I'll give you a wank," Sybil deadpanned.

"Is that a promise?"

Another eye roll from Sybil and she returned her attention back to Tom's phone where the screen had locked her out, causing her to have to type in his passcode before viewing the browser again. "We're very off-topic now…"

"Meh," Tom shrugged. "Crazier things have happened."

"Like this baby?" Sybil beamed.

"Like this baby."

"Okay. So it was the first week of August...I don't even remember all of the times we had sex that week."

Tom smirked. "Once when we were unpacking your clothes. Remember? I told you I'd help you arrange the closet and you found a shirt you thought you had lost and started changing and I picked you up and we had sex on the carpet right over there."

Sybil giggled. "I do remember that."

"Well thank god," Tom let out. "I was beginning to think this baby had erased all of our best times together."

"She doesn't make me that forgetful!" Sybil said, swatting at Tom's chest again. "Be nice to her." Then: "Be nice to me!" she said, almost as an afterthought.

Tom chuckled. "Okay. Well there was a couple times in the shower…"

Sybil looked up. A flush, one Tom had seen many times before, spread upward from her decolletage, all the way to her hairline, painting her face in a bright pink. "You know," she said rather honestly, "I think it's become my favorite place."

"Really?" Tom asked. "I always liked your bed."

Sybil smirked. "I know you did."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I know what fucking me in my bed did for your masculinity."

Tom blinked. "I don't follow."

Sybil sighed. "It's just like, it was your way of sticking it to my dad. That turned you on, I know it did."

"Um, nothing about your father turns me on."

"Tom, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Actually, I don't. I liked making love to you," he emphasized, almost in a correcting tone, "in your bed because it was safe and warm and familiar. That was the first place I made love to you. I know you liked your bed and I liked the nights we spent there. I liked how you were yourself there. I saw pieces of you there I know you'd never let the world see. I fell in love with you in that bed. Many times," he finished strongly.

Sybil's mouth curved upward into a crooked smile, one she would have unleashed if her heart was beating so fast, battling with the pounding in her head that suddenly made her feel very, very guilty. "I'm sorry," she practically whispered. "I didn't...I didn't mean to diminish any of that. I was just…"

"It always turned you on to know your dad was just down the hall…"

"Stop it," Sybil spat. "That's disgusting, alright? When I said that to you that one time, that's not what I meant, okay? What I meant was that I was lucky to have a man in my life who allowed me to be who I wanted to be. A man who loved me no matter what. Did that turn me on? Yeah, Tom, it did. That will forever turn me on, alright? It still turns me on."

There was silence, then a steady exhale, one that dried Tom's lips as he looked up. "Can we change the subject?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, love, I'm not mad at you. I just don't want to talk about your fucking dad anymore, alright?"

Sybil nodded. "Me neither." Then, a small smile appeared on her face. "The bathroom."

Tom furrowed his brows in confusion. "What?"

"The bathroom. You, uh, you took me from behind, and my parents had come over to take us and Max for lunch but Max was out with Edith and Anthony and you were…"

Tom laughed too. "Was that that week?"

"It was. You had just found out I couldn't do my own laundry and you showed me how to use the new machine Mary had just gotten. We washed towels and I was folding them and you…"

"Yeah," Tom nodded. "I know what I did next."

Sybil smiled. "Your hands were cold, I remember, but you were very gentle."

"I'm always gentle."

"Unless I don't want you to be," Sybil said, matter of factly. "Actually, it was that night when you marked my neck! And we didn't even sleep together!"

Tom was still laughing, and the arms he had crossed over his chest had fallen, allowing for one hand to press into his stomach, as if to attempt to still the laughter. "I got a little handsy."

"We were watching a children's movie!"

"Hey," Tom began, his voice already dripping in forced innocence without an alibi to accompany it. "You wanted to see Monsters University."

"So did you!"

"Again, love, you really weren't complaining. You've always loved when I marked you. And now...I've officially marked you."

"Yes, for nine months," Sybil said, acting as if she was disappointed, but looking down, cradling her bump in her hands, she could only smile. "Better than a love bite."

"I agree," Tom nodded. Sybil was still laughing, but her gaze had shifted from the swell of her stomach to Tom, her eyes practically shining as he looked back at her in a similar way. "What?"

"Nothing," Sybil quickly shook off. "You're going to laugh."

"No, I won't." Sybil blinked and Tom laughed. "Alright," he conceded. "I might. But...try me."

"Do you remember the second night we slept here?"

Tom's lips curved into a smile. "Go on…"

"You do remember?"

"You mean the night we christened this bed?"

"The night we slowly christened this bed, yes."

"Yes," Tom said simply. "It was a good night."

"It was a great night. I think one of our best. And I remember I woke you up before the sun had the chance to rise and we tried again and it was good, but not that good. And I wanted to get back to that point so badly but I decided I wasn't disappointed. Once was enough. You can't replicate that."

"Eh," Tom shook his hand as if to show disagreement. "We've come close."

"Oh, we've come close and maybe even surpassed that. But there was something so intimate about that. And we took our time and we came together and I just remember thinking how perfect you are and how lucky I am to call you mine."

"Well thanks, Sybil Crawley. You're pretty perfect yourself."

"I'm serious!" Sybil said, her words coated in laughter.

"I am too," Tom nodded, now revealing just how serious he was in the way his eyes bore into her, almost as if to ask if she wanted to try and reenact the night right now. "Hey, I love you," he said simply.

"Good," Sybil whispered. "Because I love you too."

"So you wish it were that time?"

"It can be anytime," Sybil stated. "But when our daughter asks us someday where she came from, I'm going to think of that moment and just think that she was created with a lot of love in mind."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	22. On His Lap

**A/N****:** The always perfect magfreak made me a lovely manip involving Sybil sitting on Tom's lap...wearing her converse, of course (picture on my tumblr, if you're interested). For her holiday gift I used the manip as inspiration for a drabble. Specifically, she requested that Tom "tease" Sybil in public…

Enjoy! x

* * *

This was Christmas now; Tom and Sybil going to an early mass together at Tom's church right outside the village, and then meeting the rest of the Crawley family at their church so they could all walk home together. There, brunch would be served, but only after each family member was allowed to open one of their gifts. The latter tradition was one that was created when Max turned six and the child was no longer mollified by the promise of gifts to come and instead wished to hold a present, usually a truck or a dinosaur figurine, in his lap while he ate.

This was only Sybil's first year accompanying Tom to Christmas mass. Before that, he went to mass by himself on Christmas Eve, and then would join the family at the church in the village for a service the morning of the twenty-fifth. It didn't feel right though, and Sybil had told her mother and father this many times.

"Why should Tom have to go to mass by himself every Sunday?" she would ask.

Cora shook her head. "He doesn't, honey. He knows he's always more than welcome to come to church with us in the village…"

"No, mother," Sybil would say, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. "But that's not his church! We're not Catholic."

"Exactly, Sybil," Robert would remind. "We are not Catholic. You, my darling daughter, are Anglican. If Tom wishes to go to his church, then that is fine, but just as he was raised on his ways, so were you raised on your own. If we should be so wishful to think Tom would feel welcome in our church, what are we to think of your welcoming at his services?"

They never spoke of it again. It seemed Sybil couldn't ever get them on her side where Tom was concerned and the more she tried, the more she felt badly for doing so. Their ignorance to it all — his upbringing, his Irish roots, and now, his Catholicism — seemed to be trivial to them, and yet it was these things they worked to instill so strongly in her, as if values can be opened to debate and deemed more important, more worthy than someone else's.

During the mass this morning, Sybil held a strong grip on Tom's arm and even rested her head upon his shoulder as they listened to the priest's homily. All the while, her fingertips worked slow circles on his thigh, lulling him into further comfort.

Before the service, while they were busy taking their seats and reading over the program, Sybil smiled happily upon her best friend, watching as he waved and even spoke with some of the other families. None of them were particularly wealthy and they lived all over, not just in the houses surrounding Downton. Sybil pirsed her lips into a tight smile, rubbing at his shoulders in quiet adoration of the man he was now, so mature as he conversed with people she was sure he knew since he was a boy. After all, this very church was one that Tom's mother often found solace in and to worship any place else seemed off — sacrilegious even. Admittedly, Sybil wasn't just there for Tom, she was there for Helen as well, just as Helen had often been there for Sybil when she too needed support.

Afterwards, they walked out, and on the drive home, Sybil told Tom how happy it all made her: being able to watch him practice his faith after all these years.

"Why does that make you happy?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I go to church and I feel nothing, you know? I just go because my parents make me. And I don't think they really have a reason for going either. I wasn't taught about the Bible the way you were. I hate half of those boring hymns we're forced to sing. And I really, really hate the way we always have to sit up front. It's about production, not prayer. But with you and those people…"

"Catholics, Syb. We're Catholic…"

Again she smiled, her nose scrunching upward as she pushed at her best friend's arm from her place sitting beside him in the front seat of his car. "I know what you are," she said sweetly. "Maybe I'll be a Catholic someday too…"

"Oh, god," Tom let out. Looking to her, he continued. "Don't tell your dad that, alright? He'll have me maimed. The first Catholic Crawley—"

"Well maybe I won't be a Crawley by then!" Sybil pointed. "But whatever I am, it shouldn't matter. I mean, it's really all the same, right? I believe in God. And I think you and my parents believe in the same God. I just think you believe a little bit better than they do."

Tom chuckled. "That makes no sense!"

Sybil clapped her hands together in her lap. The red wool of her gloves made an empty sound as she rubbed them together before placing them back atop her black skirt. "Yes, it does!"

"Alright," he said, putting the car in park back at the estate. They'd walk from here, just as they always did. To drive and park in the village would be silly, and his car, he was sure, would make far too much noise to go unnoticed outside of the church, still in service.

Today, the morning was surprisingly mild, and Sybil and Tom had only just come upon the church in the village, throwing snow at one another and sharing passionate kisses up against the rod-iron fence while they waited for the service to end. Finally, they took a seat on the large bench at the front of the church. In actuality, it was more of a rock wall, one built in memory of those who once belonged to the parish. A few feet down, a stone for Sybil's paternal grandfather laid in the center of the structure, etched with his name as well as birth and death dates. It curved around the front entrance, providing for seating before and after each service where parishioners would greet the priest and thank him for such a wonderful sermon.

Sybil and Tom were using it for a different purpose, one that had her sitting on his lap with her head buried into the crook of his neck. In her ear, he told her all sorts of things, first commenting on the smell of her hair, then, the scarf she wore, and how it prevented him from kissing her neck and causing her to purr in the way he had last night in the garage.

"Actually," Sybil corrected. "I almost left this at home but someone bruised my collarbone, and I didn't want risk looking like an abuse victim in the house of the lord...on his birthday," she finished, doing so with a cheeky grin that even had Tom laughing.

"Sorry about that," he commented. "I thought you saw me throw it..."

"Yeah, well I clearly didn't."

The incident they were referring to was actually not one of a sexual nature, though those sometimes left bruises and scrapes as well. A few nights ago, the two were watching a movie in Sybil's room. Halfway through their agreed upon cinematic selection, Tom turned to Sybil and told her he wished they'd watch something else. In fake protest, she threw a pillow at him. In retaliation, and in somewhat of a hinted request, he tossed the remote control her way, causing the device to painfully land upon her collarbone. Looking back, she wished it were a hurried kiss that marked her skin. To explain the story to anyone would be to put herself in an unfortunate light, one where she couldn't even protect herself from flying electronic devices.

"I like this skirt," Tom said, changing the subject and bringing them back to the present moment. "Is it new?"

"No," Sybil smirked. "You told me you liked it last week too when you took it off of me."

Tom nuzzled Sybil's neck and leaned in to breathe her in. "Well," he began, his voice husky and warm against her ear, "you look nice today."

"Mhm," she nodded, before grabbing his chin and giving him a long, passionate kiss.

Before them, the doors could open any minute. In fact, Sybil was surprised they hadn't yet, and surely her family would be one of the first ones out, right after the parish leaders. Christmas, or their own version of it would end the minute this mass was over. They both had pitched in to buy Max a drum set, and they'd laugh and smile as the child opened it and then subsequently figured the instrument out. Already her and Tom had shared their gifts, and today, they'd look across the table at one another and smile, or make small talk, but the flirtatious banter they held now would be deserted here; the parts of Christmas that mattered to either of them, had already been celebrated.

"You have that cologne on?" Sybil asked, pulling away. "That was quick."

"Do you like it?"

"I picked it out, of course I like it!" Sybil offered with a laugh. "But it works well with your aftershave, which I was worried about…"

Tom raised an eyebrow in question. "Do you think about the way I smell often?"

Sybil didn't skip a beat. "Yes, actually." And she did. "I pride myself in having a best friend that is easy on both the eyes and the nose," she said simply.

"That makes one of us," Tom commented, not even looking at Sybil as he did. In fact, his eyes were trained on the ribbon hanging on a nearby wreath and the way it waved in the wind, causing him to involuntarily pull Sybil in closer in an attempt to keep her warm.

"Tom!" Sybil yelped. "That's mean."

"Not mean, just honest," he clarified. "I care about your body and only your body…" His voice trailed off, and as he moved to deflect Sybil's aggressive slaps to the arm, he laughed, breaking character completely.

"I'm sorry!" he let out. "Why do you take me so seriously? What in all of our years of friendship ever told you that was a good idea? I don't think I've ever taken myself seriously and yet you still find it in your heart to not treat me like the child that I am. Really, Syb, it's sweet…"

"You're an ass," she added, slapping at his leg again.

"Whoa, watch your hands down there, Syb!" Tom teased. "Precious cargo."

"My ass," she scoffed.

"No," he corrected. "That's right here," he squeezed, causing Sybil to practically jump up in shock. "You're fine, see? Still works…"

"Yeah, in your dreams…"

In front of them, the doors to the church opened. "Papa!" Sybil let out, standing up from Tom's lap. As she did, a cool breeze brushed past, and Tom thanked the wind for taking care of the erection he was beginning to sport with the Earl's daughter sitting with her weight on his lap.

As predicted, Robert and Cora were the first out of the church, and all too quickly, they were smiling at the Priest, discussing the sermon and an upcoming village meeting in which funding for the church would be raised as a main topic of debate. Robert saw his daughter, and nodded to acknowledge her, but didn't move to greet her or her best friend, both who had sat in the cold for almost ten minutes now, waiting for the rest of them. They had many appearances they needed to make and people they wished to say hello to before departing for Downton. In the meantime, Sybil sighed, and returned, this time sitting next to Tom on the curved stone bench.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sybil beamed. "Great. Why?"

Tom reached over and wrapped an arm around his best friend, pulling her in so she laid against his chest much in the way she did during Catholic mass that same morning. Now, he even pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I meant what I said before, Syb...you look really great."

She smiled again, this time with more feeling. "Thanks, Tom."

"Hey!" Max said, coming up to both of them. Both Sybil and Tom looked to the boy, and Sybil noticed how the grip she had on the back of Tom's neck loosened. "I hear the present you helped Santa get me was big! Can I open that one before breakfast?"

Sybil laughed and looked to Tom. In returning her attention back to her nephew, she shrugged. "I guess. I don't care. What did mum say?"

"She said I have to open Granmum and Pop's gift first."

Sybil and Tom chuckled. "Well I guess there's your answer, right?" Tom said. "How was church?"

Max looked away then back to the couple, avoiding the question. "Can I sit? Mum and Dad only just got up to the line. We're going to be here _forever_," he slumped.

Sybil went to move over, but another couple had already taken a seat, leaving her no other option but to stand so her nephew could sit. "Here, take my seat," she said.

"Sit on Tom," Max instructed as he sat, not knowing little effort was needed to cause that to happen.

"I'm fine," she said.

Tom had other plans though, and he grabbed his best friend by the waist, pulling her back down onto his lap, this time causing her skirt to hike up. She looked at him, her eyes widening as they spoke volumes neither felt bold enough to even whisper with Max this close.

The child was oblivious though, and with his mind constantly darting about, they were lucky he acknowledged them at all. "Can you hold my gloves?" Max asked, already passing the fleece mittens to his aunt. Then, he pulled open his jacket, and grabbed his Nintendo DS from the inside zipper pocket. He placed the game controller on his lap before taking his gloves back from Sybil. "Thanks," he stated casually.

"Dude," Tom let out. "Do your mum and dad know you have that?"

"Oh, yeah," Max nodded. "They let me take it out during the slow parts of the priests' speech. I'm not stupid," he sing-songed. "I know it's Jesus' birthday and everything, but I've heard the story of it so many times. It doesn't change every year or anything."

Tom looked to Sybil, and dropped his mouth open. Already though, Sybil was using his shoulder to stifle her laughter.

"What's so funny?" But the child didn't look to them. All the while his eyes were pasted to the small video screen and the way the stylus he held moved upon in. Eventually, he beat a level of his game, and glanced momentarily at his aunt and her best friend. "Is the story they tell you at your church any different, Tom?" Max asked. "Maybe I'll come to that next year."

Tom shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, bud. It's pretty much the same."

Max shrugged. "I still might come anyway. You know, switch it up."

Momentarily, Sybil was distracted from the way in which Tom kept a steady hand on her hip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Mary and Matthew had finished talking to the vicar and were now heading their way, causing Max to shuffle in an attempt to hide his electronics. Tom's hand, however, did not move.

"And what's going on over here?" Mary asked, appearing above her son, her arms crossed over her chest for warmth, aiding in that which was provided by Matthew, who also had a steady arm around his wife. "Max, what is the rule with your game?"

Max sighed and rolled his eyes. "That I'm only supposed to have it out if people can't see it," he said, now moving to officially put his DS back in the breast pocket of his suit.

"Are we almost done? I'm hungry," he whined.

"We are. Did you steal Sybil's seat?" Matthew asked.

Max looked down the bench as if he was completely unsure of what his father was referring to. "No," he gave as his answer. "She wanted to sit there."

"Max! Don't lie!" Sybil corrected. As she gave her response, her eyes locked onto her brother-in-law's and quickly, moved to look away.

The child, in a phase where such fibs were now all too common, was already moving onto another topic, or rather, backtracking to one they had merely glossed over. "Mum. Dad. I think next year I might go to church with Tom and Sybil."

"Oh, Jesus…" Tom said, dropping his head down into his hand. "I'm going to be taken out back and shot," he whispered into Sybil's hair, causing her to smile and tap at his knee for reassurance.

Sybil swallowed as she looked to Mary and Matthew. "He was just saying how the story is the same every year…" she tried to explain away.

Matthew looked to his wife, then back to the trio on the bench. "Well, Max, did you know that your great-grandfather was Jewish?"

With warning eyes, Mary looked at her husband. "Do not start that, Matthew. We said…"

"What?" Max asked, his eyes wide. "What does that even mean?"

"It means he didn't celebrate Christmas. He celebrated Hanukkah."

"Do you get presents for Hanukkah?" Max asked skeptically. Again, Sybil and Tom laughed. All of these questions were so typically Max; inciteful and calculating in the way smart little boys often are.

Matthew shrugged. "Well, yeah…"

"Why don't we celebrate that then? At least it'd be a change…"

"Maxwell Reginald Crawley! It is Christmas!" Mary squawked. "You be thankful that you are healthy enough and fortunate enough to celebrate anything at all, you hear me?"

"Uh-oh," Sybil whispered into Tom's neck. It was his turn to smile now, and he did, but only after using the moment to pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Love," Matthew tried, always so patiently. "Maybe it's good that Max learn about the different holidays."

"Love," Mary gave back to him, this time her eyes icy and unyielding as the grip on her husband's arm intensified. "Maybe it's best we talk about these things before sharing them with our son, alright? Also!" Mary said, her voice changing it's tone as she looked back to Sybil and Tom. It was almost as if in the change of timbre, she was allowing everyone else back into her conversation. "Sybil, please tell me you're only wearing those god awful shoes for the walk home."

"Nope," Sybil beamed. "I wore them to mass this morning too. Don't you think they look cute with this skirt and these tights?" she asked, now moving her legs this way and that as if to show her plain trainers off. All the while, Tom watched, enjoying the way she wiggled against him as she flexed her legs and pointed her toes in emphasis.

"No," Mary corrected. "I don't. I swear, we are not related." She sighed and turned her attention back to Max. "Let's go. We'll begin walking back and your father can tell you all about these apparent Jewish relatives he has…" she sighed. "Sybil, tell Mama and Papa we went ahead, alright?" Then, her eyes widened. "I really have to pee," she stated sharply, causing both Sybil and Tom to nod before sharing a small laugh between themselves.

It was all so typically Mary, from the tight red dress she wore, to the pointed booties and the metallic gold belt. Very put together, and so demanding of respect that it was given, even without regard to the sometimes classless things that left her mouth in tense moments. It was what had Matthew falling so head over heels in love with her. She was posh, or at least that was how she presented herself to the world, but when comfortable with you, she drank beer and yelled at the telly during rugby matches like no one she had ever seen before. She even told him that there was a reason all of her actions seemed so foreign, for he was the first person she was this uninhibited with. She didn't trust any other man the way she trusted Matthew, and in finding someone she could be so completely herself with, she knew she could never let him go.

Though Sybil never commented on it, (Tom couldn't remember the last time something about true love had come out of Sybil's mouth in a positive tone) Tom understood the reverence his best friend had for her sister's marriage. She respected it, not only because Mary was happy, but because their relationship was healthy, and the love they had for one another was based on more than their equally good looks and quality social standing.

With them gone, Tom nodded at the empty bench. "Move over."

Sybil smirked. "Do you want me to? Am I crushing you?"

"Actually, no," he said with a small laugh. "You're keeping my hands warm because I forgot my gloves…"

"Yeah, well watch those hands, alright? You never see it, but Matthew just stares at you, and he was staring when you practically had your hand up my skirt a few minutes ago."

"He didn't see that," Tom corrected, though not in the way Sybil was hoping. His hand had been up her skirt, and his fingers, calloused and with stubborn grease beneath the nails, trailed up and down her upper thigh all while Mary and Matthew interacted with their son just an arm's length away.

"He better not have," Sybil huffed. "We should have gone with them. I mean, why are we even still here? Nobody has said hello to me except for my own nephew. This was pointless."

Tom blinked. "Is that why they want you to come? So people can say hello to you?"

"Well that's why we always go to mass. That's what mother says. It's important that the people of the village see us acting like a family."

Tom laughed. "That's such a horseshit."

Sybil nodded. "Tell me about it."

"Do you want to go then?"

Sybil looked to Tom and smiled. "No, but thank you. We've waited this long. What's another couple of minutes?"

"Exactly," Tom mumbled, now moving to place his chin on her shoulder. His hand, however, continued its path, over her thigh and toward the hem of her skirt. In feeling this, Sybil smiled, but did her best to remain composed. For some reason she cared about Matthew seeing, and yet couldn't quite imagine reacting this way or that if her father saw. _He was too blind_, she reminded herself. _He'll never see_.

Coincidentally, right around the time the crowd in front of the church cleared, Robert and Cora approached Sybil and Tom. As they did, both Sybil and Tom stood, knowing this is what was expected of them. Since the moment Mary and Matthew had left with Max, their time was no longer their own. And for the rest of the day, while they faked smiles, ate sweets, and opened presents, it would also be on borrowed time, time they'd surely never see again unless they were to seize it themselves.

On the walk home, the cold danced around them, swirling through the pre-existing separation that seemed to forever exist between the older and younger couple. As Cora hung onto Robert, so did Sybil to Tom, the latter pair laughing so much that at one point Robert finally turned around and asked what was so funny.

Sybil looked to her father and straightened up. With pursed lips, she looked to the ground, then to Tom before revealing: "There was this child at mass this morning—"

"Yes?" Robert asked.

Sybil sighed. "He must be learning to speak, because at several points throughout the sermon he would call out and his parents did their best to hush him but it was no use. I mean, I don't think anyone minded really. And what Tom and I are laughing about is that his outbursts most likely worked to speed the whole process along."

"Yes," Cora agreed. "You two were out early. You should have just gone back to Downton…"

"Thanks for telling us that now," Sybil let out, doing so with an accentuated eye roll.

"Sybil!" Robert barked. "Was that necessary?"

"Robert, she was sitting in the cold. I'd be a bit miffed too…"

"It's fine," Sybil smiled sweetly. "Tom kept me warm."

She knew what she was saying when she said it. Still, the desired reaction: a cough or change in Robert's step, never occurred and not a single word was uttered until all four of them reached the door to Downton.

"Sybil," Robert called out. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Whatever for, Papa?" She asked, playing innocent. Normally, Tom would laugh, but the lines he walked with Robert were thin, and yet far between. He wasn't certain what they'd be discussing, but he knew it most likely had to do with him, and would surely involve Sybil's comment from before.

"What? Can't I talk to my daughter on Christmas?"

"Fair enough," she shrugged.

Robert kissed Cora's cheek and then waited as Tom and her departed inside where already Carson was waiting to take their coats before offering them some of the mulled cider Mrs. Patmore had made.

"Yes?" Sybil asked with the door closed. "Or do you just enjoy watching me in the cold?"

Robert sighed. "Are you aware that people in this town talk about you, Sybil?"

Yes, when she was a little girl, children talked, and now that those same children are teenagers, they still talk, with comments from their parents about Sybil's dancing and her friendship with Tom most definitely fueling the situation. But she had heard it all before, and their words, while amusing, lacked all credit. As Tom's mother would say: it's just noise.

Sybil shook her head. "Not particularly."

"They do," Robert said. "About you and Tom, specifically."

Sybil laughed. "And what do they say?"

"They say you're involved. Are you and Tom involved?"

"Am I involved with Tom? Yes, Papa, I'm very involved with Tom," Sybil said curtly, a small smile still painting her cheeks. "He's my best friend."

"That's not what I mean and you know it, Sybil."

"No, Papa! I don't know. What does that even mean? 'Involved'?"

Robert took a step into his daughter, his body invading her own personal space in warning that she lower her voice. "Are you dating? Do you like him?"

"We're not dating!" Sybil breathed out.

"He seems to be fond of you…"

"And I'm fond of him!" she shot back. "But why does it matter what people say? You know the truth…" she said, this time kicking at the ground with her trainer.

"Do I, Sybil? I saw you two after church today."

Sybil swallowed, suddenly thinking of the way Tom cradled her face and kissed her, pressing his tongue ever so gently against hers as his hand caressed her cheek, while her own moved up and down his back before finally finding solace in the back pockets of his trousers. "You saw what?"

"You sitting on his lap! Is that appropriate?"

"Max needed a seat."

"No, Sybil, before that. Why is that necessary?"

"He had forgotten his gloves and I was keeping his hands warm."

"Is that what he told you?" Robert said, the words rolling off his tongue with a small laugh.

In clear offense, Sybil put her hand on her hip. "What's that supposed to mean? I don't know if you're insinuating that I'm a stupid girl or that Tom's a randy boy, but I just want to say that neither of those things are true!"

"Sybil, darling, whether you want to admit it or not, it is not normal for boys and girls of your age to be just friends. I know you hold the boy on quite the pedestal—"

"I put him exactly where he belongs!" she corrected.

"Alright," Robert sighed. "Just know that just because you don't like him, doesn't mean he doesn't like you." Then, his voice changed, as he changed the subject. "Are you still comfortable with him living in the house?"

"He barely lives in the house anymore, Papa. He has the loft now…"

"Maybe that's still too close—"

"No!" Then, in realizing the urgency in her voice and how much truth was hidden beneath such a quick and passionate outburst, Sybil stepped back. "No. He loves the loft. It's lovely. And my room is lovely. Everything's lovely, really."

Another sigh from Robert. This was useless, and the more he talked to Sybil about these things the clearer it became that she'd only continue to defend her best friend, all with more passion each passing time. "Well, my darling girl, I love you, do you know that?"

Sybil looked to the ground again. "I do."

"I don't want anyone taking advantage of you. I also don't want Tom to keep you from perhaps having a boyfriend of your own. You know," Robert tried. "Jonathan's parents' tell me he fancies you."

"Yes, and I'd rather give myself a lobotomy than go out with him."

"Alright," Robert chuckled, moving now to wrap an arm around his youngest daughter. "Just know your mother worries…"

"Well she shouldn't. I'm happy. I'm happy at school and I'm happy with my dancing and I'm happy with Tom."

In his head, all Robert could see was the way Sybil, his own daughter, fit so perfectly atop her best friend. He saw the smile on her face and the way her legs hung lifelessly, understanding that the much of her posture and carefree nature were contributed to the way in which Tom kept ahold of her, one hand on her hip and the other, caressing at her stocking-clad thigh, pushing the skirt up with his thumb. He fumed, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to say something, and he wondered now why he wasn't talking to Tom instead as his daughter was clearly oblivious to the situation.

"Your mother and I are happy if you're happy," he tried. All he could do thereafter was kiss Sybil's head, and follow her closely as she trailed inside, surely headed right back to Tom's side as soon as Carson handed her a drink.

He was right, and more so than usual, he found his eyes trained on his daughter, and the way Tom acted around her. In particular, while the family opened gifts, Tom had his arm draped against the back of the couch, his hand leaning down to tickle at Sybil's shoulder. Though the fireplace was on not even a few feet away, Sybil sat forward to help Max with his gift and when she sat back, she was closer now, allowing for Tom to run his hands through her hair or dance along her shoulder, caressing the freckled skin there. The more Robert looked, the more he saw how it was not just one sided either. Sybil's hand was dangerously close to the space where Tom's trousers folded on his thigh from the way he was sitting. While they played charades after dinner, her own elbow rested on his shoulder, and her hand scratched at the hair at the base of his neck. Though he heard her words of promise in his ear, Robert couldn't help but to feel wronged by it all, as if Sybil had told Tom what they spoke about and the two were now acting this way to bother him. Surely if it were occurring before he would have seen it, Robert thought.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Isn't clueless Robert the best?

x. Elle


	23. New Year's Eve

**A/N:**Happy New Year's Eve, my lovelies! As I already apologized for on tumblr...this is ROUGH. I'm sure there are *several* mistakes in this. Not only did I not give it the editing it deserves, overall, it just didn't get to the level it deserves to be at, but still - I wanted to get something up AND there's still some lovely "party/chaos" moments in here that were really fun to write.

I think I'm going to be posting the next chapter of _Beautiful Collisions_ on January 7th. If you didn't read the chapter I posted on Christmas, go check it out! I know the site was down then…

Enjoy! x

* * *

"Tom, exactly how drunk is Sybil?"

"Hmm?" he asked, turning around to meet Mary's icy gaze. It was unwavering, and as the two of them stood at the bar waiting for another round, he found her eyes refusing to leave his until she was given a proper answer.

Behind them, Matthew stood, one hand clutching the back of Sybil's arm while the other nursed an almost empty glass of wine. Sybil beamed as she listened to Edith and Anthony discuss their latest trip to California where they were buying land for a company Anthony had just signed a contract with. She heard noise, and she wasn't so intoxicated that she could no longer enjoy conversation, but she found herself fidgeting more, and with each pause in a sentence, she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she turned around to check Tom and Mary's status at the bar.

Cora's annual New Year's Eve Gala, one benefitting a local children's hospital, was held at The Savoy this year. The hotel and all of its patrons, while typically high brow, were basked in a new form of light as cocktail dresses with thick jeweled detailing moved slowly across the plush carpet, greeting old friends and meeting new ones. The men wore tuxedos and their shoes shined just as much as their dates' gowns. It was an invite-only event, and one that all of London's old-money scene found themselves attending, year after year.

This was only Sybil and Tom's second year in attendance, and after last year, they found themselves in much more casual attire. That afternoon, after walking into her best friend's bedroom half-naked, Sybil proclaimed quite loudly that she wouldn't be wearing the strapless gown Mary helped her to pick out. Tom then went on to ask her if she'd be wearing her current outfit: a mismatched undergarment set he was sure he had seen many times before. Her eyes darkened and she smirked, assuring him that even that was too casual, but that if he played his cards right, the possibility of him seeing her in much, much less was likely. Sybil left Tom's room, a smirk playing its way across her features, only after she instructed him not to wear his suit and tie. He listened, and as he packed to go to the hotel, he found himself excited, always loving the nights when Sybil's clothing worked to upset her parents. And though he'd never voice these things, he wondered if they'd still be as upset after learning that she followed their instructions of disrobing, all with his slow and teasing help.

"Tom?" Mary tried again in the present. "Or are you drunk too?"

"I'm not drunk," Tom said with a laugh. "I've been nursing the same drink since we got here."

"Then what on earth did you give her?"

"I haven't given her anything…"

"Tom," Mary warned, both her mouth and eyes refusing to give this all up. She looked away then back to the boy that for so long had acted as a brother to her. Now, and all too quickly, it seemed he was someone else. His hair was coiffed and if she was allowed to say it, he smelled quite good. Yes, he wore a pair of jeans, but they were tailored perfectly and the white button-up he had underneath what she knew was an expensive sport's jacket was starched perfectly. He was so well put together, and in this moment, on this night with Sybil acting without inhibition, she was forced to remind herself which one she was related to by blood.

"Has Papa seen her yet? What about Mama? They'll have a fit."

Tom looked away, sending his eyes upward as he grabbed their drinks from the bar. "Do you ever get the feeling your parents only ever notice Sybil if she's done something wrong?"

"Well by that logic, wouldn't they have noticed her by now?"

"I know, I'm shocked too," Tom deadpanned.

"So is that what this is? An act to get them to notice her?" Mary sipped at her cocktail. "You're wrong, by the way."

Tom laughed. "I'm not wrong. They're just busy. Besides, Sybil would never give them that much glory. You know that just as much as I do. She's drinking because she wants to drink."

"Did you not get her the first drink?"

"Well, your sister's always needed a push…" Tom said casually, his voice officially trailing off as they both drew closer to their waiting party.

"Tom!" Sybil let out, practically leaping into her best friend. If it weren't for the way he clutched his own drink and hers, he was sure his fingertips would have found her sides. Already tonight, long before she was inebriated Tom noted, Sybil had pulled him into a back hallway and pressed him up against a wall, her hands going to his waist and then slipping below. He shied away from her touch, something they were both thankful for as not even a minute later, one of Robert's close friends and fellow house members turned the corner looking for the loo.

"Sybil, please!" Mary let out. "There are photographers at this party."

Edith looked to her eldest sister, then back to Sybil, still lightly latched onto her best friend, her lips now grazing against his earlobe as she said something that seemed to bring a shine to the boy's face. "Sybil, really."

"She's fine," Tom insisted. With Sybil holding her drink, it was easier now for Tom to hold her and the way in which his hand gripped the flesh of her back was calming, even as she continued to sip at the watered down cocktail Tom had only just handed her.

"This is good," she mumbled, clearly oblivious to all of the tension around her. "What is it?"

"Rose water and champagne," Tom said simply.

Edith rolled her eyes as she drank from her bubbly flute. "Emphasis on the rose water, let's hope."

Too suddenly, Tom felt as if he and Sybil were being judged. He could handle it, and surely, so could she, but he knew that the latter was prefered only after she consented to such behavior. Yes, it was Sybil's idea to get a bit tossed - as she had called it. Even so, Tom knew that if Sybil knew how her two sisters were currently looking at her, she'd wish to crawl directly into herself, wishing only to rear her head when the moment was so far gone she barely remembered it at all.

"Syb, why don't we—"

His attempt was feeble though. Already coming toward them was Robert and Cora, and to walk away now would be to make it obvious that Sybil was currently in a state. Instead, Sybil straightened her posture out and nuzzled her face into the crook of Tom's arm, not realizing in her haze how affectionate such an action looked.

"Sybil?"

"Hi!" she let out, more loudly than she should have. Even like this, she knew that. "Shite," she whispered to Tom causing him to chuckle.

"Oh, you all look so lovely!" Cora let out. "All of you, so grown up…and we're having fun?"

"Always," Mary said contritely as her eyes rolled heavenward. In all honesty, she wished to be at home with Max and she was jealous of her mother-in-law for being the one who would read the boy a story before kissing his forehead and wishing him a good night of sleep.

"Loads," Edith chimed in. She too was thinking of the vineyards her and Anthony had visited in California and the way her grandmother Martha had rented them the most perfect cottage to lose themselves in for the weekend away from things like wireless internet and cell service. Work, she soon discovered, did wait, and even when the shock wore off, she found herself, especially on nights like this, yearning for the silence again.

"Mary and Edith, there was actually someone I wanted you to meet," Cora began. "Surely Matthew and Anthony can spare you for a moment…"

Sybil looked to her mother, her entire body growing cold as she realized how subconsciously cruel she was being. Cora, like many mothers, was never the type to outwardly shame her children. Instead, she found it was best to do so subtly; children, she believed, were reared best by words unsaid.

"Oh, mother, please!" Mary let out. "Everyone here seems to get older and older every year—"

"Mary!" Robert scolded.

"Well they do," Edith said honestly. "We're here to support you, Mama, we are, but do we have to meet people? Half of them are too pissed or self-important to remember us anyway."

"They all remember you," Cora insisted.

"Because our pictures will appear in the papers tomorrow alongside their own. Please. Let's skip the formalities, alright? I was just beginning to enjoy the night."

"Alright," Cora nodded. "Sybil, Tom," she finally acknowledged. "Please mind the photographers. I haven't the energy to get into it, but it's just best you not be photographed like this…"

"Of course," Tom said, now looking to Sybil, her eyes glancing at the carpet too.

"Sorry," Sybil said quickly. It didn't matter that the shirt she wore cost more than Mary's earrings, or that the shoes, while scuffed, were from Italy. What mattered to her mother was how she looked, and surely that her hair was down and not up, her untamed waves turning to curls the more crowded the bar became.

Almost as if Tom had heard, the way he held onto her strengthened, even more so when Robert and Cora walked away. Embarrassed, Sybil looked to her almost empty flute of champagne and sipped at the liquid.

"You're right," Mary said in agreement. "A drink seems like a good idea."

Sybil smiled and only allowed herself to laugh fully when it was she following her sisters back toward the bar. With them, they brought everyone else's order. Matthew and Anthony both decided they'd pay the fee required to open a bottle of Scotch, but when they offered some to Tom, he kindly refused, insisting that he was more than satisfied with the water he requested Sybil grab him.

"Water?" Anthony let out. "Is that even allowed?"

"They serve it to you in a rocks glass with a napkin. I'm sure most people think it's a tonic."

"I thought you liked to drink," Anthony continued, his eyebrows high as he waited for the younger man's response.

"I do. Or rather, I don't mind it. But—"

"He has to watch Sybil," Matthew finished for Tom, before quickly sipping at the last of his wine, hoping the brim of the glass was wide enough to hide his knowing smirk.

Tom smiled too. "She doesn't need watching. She's perfectly capable of being tossed on her own. It's just...I don't know," Tom finished. "I just don't feel like drinking."

Anthony looked to Matthew and smirked. "We'll watch her. You're allowed to have fun you know, Tom. I mean, if I grew up in this family, I'd look forward to these nights."

"I'd _need_ these nights," Matthew stated, causing Anthony to chuckle.

Tom said nothing. In response, he merely smiled at the men, realizing (only when it was pointed out to him) how out of place he felt in situations like this. Though life hadn't always been kind, the freedom he fought for was always Sybil's. It was she who deserved relaxing nights like this one, nights where she'd get just a bit drunk if it meant laughing with her sisters. He tried to remember when it was the three of them were last together and allowed a moment to themselves.

"So Robert tells me you've gotten into Oxford, Cambridge, and Trinity…"

"What?" Tom asked, his mouth parted as his ears had only just perceived that he was being talked to. Beforehand, his eyes remained glued on Sybil and the way the stockings she wore painted her pale skin, accenting the muscles in her otherwise thin legs as she walked.

"Yeah, Robert was telling us you've gotten all of your acceptance letters already. Do you know which one you'll choose?"

"Oh, uh...not yet," Tom settled. "Trinity was a nice nod though. Mum would have been proud of that one."

"Then go to Trinity," Matthew stated simply.

Still looking to Sybil, Tom smirked, the emotion falling only when he was officially pulled out of his reverie. "It's not that easy…"

"What's not that easy?" Sybil laughed out, approaching the ground with Mary and Edith in tow, both women also laughing. Casually, just as Mary and Edith moved to step into Matthew and Anthony's sides, Sybil wrapped her arm around Tom's neck.

"Uni," Anthony stated.

"Fuck it," Sybil said.

Altogether, everyone's eyes widened, but it was Matthew who let out the first laugh, inviting everyone else to join him in displaying a similar emotion: one of shock at hearing the youngest, and sweetest Crawley girl, dispel a profanity with such conviction.

"What?" Sybil asked. But then as if the moment was rewound and played back for her, she quickly clasped her palm over her mouth and dropped her forehead down to Tom's shoulder in embarrassment.

"Well," Mary began, "Now we know she's capable…"

Had that really been the first time she used foul language in front of her family? At a public event with some of London's finest, yes, that did seem to be the case.

It was not frowned upon, and after saying it, Sybil did not feel the need to defend herself. Instead, they all picked up a casual conversation about politics, one that had them all laughing from out behind empty goblets the more the night drew on.

Eventually, just as the party was beginning to wind down, they excused themselves. The perk of this night, amidst the chaos of Cora getting everything ready and the fittings and tastings that occurred in the weeks prior, was that each daughter was given their own hotel room for the night. While they tirelessly thanked The Savoy for their hospitality in hosting year after year, the hotel returned the favor, knowing that without the Crawley family, their business would not be as strong. Just as much profit was made for the hotel as the children's hospital, and if it weren't for the way she rested atop Tom's back as he ran them down the hall toward their suite, she'd write off this party altogether.

Loudly, her cackle echoed throughout the hall, where textured wallpaper worked with the gold carpet to accent just how expensive these rooms were. Momentarily, she wondered if the suites Mary and Edith were each given were the same as the one she and Tom shared. She knew her parents didn't think twice about the arrangements, but she did, and Tom did too, even after their door was shut and she was out of her clothes from that evening, only walking around the suite in her undergarments, including the faded black stockings that drove Tom so mad.

Still drunk, she danced around a bit, until finally she grew impatient and grabbed Tom by the lapels of his jacket, bringing his lips directly onto her own as she obtained the kiss she had practically been begging for all night. Briefly, she pulled away to giggle before repositioning in front of Tom, making it easy for him to accept all of her weight back onto him as he stumbled toward the bed.

Behind her, Tom reached out, knowing he'd need the mattress and accompanying duvet to steady them. Even with the help, their ascension onto the bed was slow and over-calculated, with his weight almost crushing her as she leaned back flat. Through it all, Sybil laughed again, looking to Tom as she let out a small whisper: "I'm drunk."

"I know," Tom nodded, letting out a small laugh. Hearing it, Sybil heard more nervousness than amusement, and the mere sound was enough to sober her up.

"Mmm," she moaned, loving the way he moved against her. "I love you," she sing-songed.

Instantly, Tom picked his head up. "What?"

"What?" Sybil smirked back.

_She didn't hear herself_, Tom thought. _Maybe I'm the one hearing things_, he continued. _I wish I were hearing things. I wish she'd say it again. _

_I wish she'd mean what she said. _

"Do you not want to?" she continued.

He wanted to. Sometimes it was all he wanted to do. And ever since they'd first been intimate, over two years ago, he'd been waiting for those words. He wanted her to mean them just as much as he did. He needed her to believe in them just as he believe in her — in them. And there they were, plain as day, coated with champagne and a bit of laughter. Never before had they sounded less genuine and the two had exchanged them several times, though certainly not like this. It was all he wanted, her and the sentiment behind what she was about to give him, and it only made Tom rethink all of this as he once again detached his lips from her mouth.

Tom sighed. "You're pretty pissed, Syb...maybe we shouldn't…"

Quickly, Sybil pushed him off of her. With him gone, she moved closer to the headboard, now leaning against the fluffed up pillows with her knees bent into her chest.

"Sybil, what is wrong?"

"Am I too sloppy for you, Tom? Is that it?" she spat. "They're not here now, so I know you're not doing it to impress them. Fuck, maybe you just don't want me…"

"It just feels wrong." She was capable of the words; he knew that now. _If only she could say them properly, the way they both needed_, Tom thought.

"You chose not to drink tonight! If you were drunk, we'd be fucking now. Would it feel right then?"

"Yeah, it probably would…" he conceded with a small shrug. This was helpless. This was giving up.

"Go fuck yourself, Tom."

"Syb…"

This moment of clarity was not one he expected to see with her in this state. This was also not how he expected to end this night. She was right: he was planning on drinking with her, but as she went to take her first sip of wine, Tom noticed the way Robert's eyes bore into her, judging her for all she was doing, and all that she had not yet done. Despite what Anthony and Matthew said, he did feel he had to watch out for her. He couldn't let her make a fool of herself. It wasn't fair for her, so beautiful and smart and kind, to always be scrutinized so heavily. She deserved all the fun and none of the letdown. Why then, couldn't he meet her there?

Because sober, he soon found out, meant thinking about the future. Trinity was too far away, but with Sybil forfeiting Cambridge for Juilliard, none of that seemed to matter anymore.

She had moved to the gift basket out near the living room where next to it, a bottle of wine chilled. When they first arrived inside their room, Tom must have uncorked it, because the top lay beside it and already a towel wrapped around the bottle's neck, collecting condensation the longer it sat out. Quickly, Sybil's eyes darted to the bottle, then to the gift basket, where inside, with two bathrobes and a box of chocolates, a smaller set of liquors were packaged. It was these that Sybil grabbed for, and hastily, she popped off the twist top on the small shot of Patrón XO before she dropped her head back to begin chugging the thick, dirty liquid.

"Sybil…" he tried. "Stop it!"

Again, she pushed him away, this time moving for the bathroom where immediately she was bent over the toilet bowl, paying no mind to the cool marble beneath her stocking-covered feet, or the way her stomach rolled over the top of her tights. Her hair would have cascaded down too if Tom weren't at her side, pulling her curls back as she heaved into the porcelain fixture.

It was quick, and then she was done, collapsing down onto the floor, where the same low temperature greeted her naked back. "You're right," she mumbled. "I didn't eat enough."

It wasn't another 'I love you' but it wasn't his best friend lying unconcious on the bathroom floor either, and for this he was grateful. In appreciation, Tom sighed, doing his best to force a small smile for her sake. "You and liquor have never been the best of friends."

"Teach me your ways, Tom Branson," Sybil managed to jest, even in her sick state.

Just like that, they were back to being best friends. Without him, Sybil was by herself in this world, and surely there was no one else who could see her looking this unattractive and still accompany her to bed with a cup of water in his hand. He had no intention of taking advantage of her there and he'd only help her undress if it was what she requested. Sybil was also confident he'd tell her how beautiful she was, something she never deserved, but didn't wish to hear especially now, as she'd most likely cry.

"Did you have a good time?" Sybil finally asked. She was dressed in one of Tom's v-necks and she watched now as Tom moved about the room, getting ready for bed. Her teeth were brushed and her hair was thrown into a tight bun on the top of her head. It was all the energy she could muster as her head now throbbed the more her dehydration set in.

Tom looked to Sybil, her petite frame swallowed whole by the soft expanse of the satin comforter atop the bed. In seeing this, he smiled, and she smiled back, noticing now how clouded her vision was. "Don't make fun of me," she mumbled.

"I'm not," Tom assured. "Are you sure you don't want food? We can call for room service…"

"I'm fine…"

"Yes, now you're fine. Now that the contents of your stomach are purged. I'm talking about tomorrow. You know you're only going to be allowed a crepe at breakfast. _One_ crepe…" Tom emphasized.

Sybil groaned and turned over in bed. "Are you almost done?" she asked. They'd been out of their shared shower for twenty minutes now, and Tom was still finding things to occupy his time. "Tom!" Sybil called.

"What?" he asked all too innocently, even with the volume of his voice slightly raised.

"It's midnight!" Sybil said quickly. She shot up in bed and looked to the muted television. Surely enough, it was midnight, and outside their shuttered window, fireworks went off, ringing the new year in. Without all of it, the noise and the celebration, Sybil smiled. "Happy New Year."

Tom smiled too. "Happy New Year, Syb."

As they fell asleep that night, Tom didn't dare tell Sybil his fears in having her attend Juilliard. He didn't enjoy the way the rest of the world believed she depended on him so heavily, but he also wasn't ready to let go of that role, a role that gave him purpose just as much as it marked her to be weak. She wasn't weak though, and he'd continue to fight her corner for the rest of his life if it mean nights like this one where she found solace in his presence amidst the chaos of parties, their own arguments, and the inevitable make up sex. After all, it was his grip that was tight upon the flesh of her hip as they fell asleep. The pads of her own fingers couldn't bare to ask his skin for those types of favors yet.

* * *

x. Elle


	24. Snow Fight

**A/N****: **I wrote this awhile ago and never posted it because the fandom was experiencing a surplus of fics at the time and I didn't feel it necessary. But now it's quite fitting seeing as how we're getting a huge snow storm in New York right now. Wherever you are, I hope it's safe and warm! :]

Enjoy! x

* * *

Snow was uncommon in and around Downton. For some reason, it only ever fell on the weekends, or in the middle of the night, where by morning the streets were only barely dusted with a sprinkling of cold precipitation. Only on one occasion had there ever been a snow day, and even then, Sybil and Tom couldn't truly enjoy it, because the concept of having a day off from school due to weather was so foreign.

Today, Sybil and Tom had school, but there was more than just a layer of snow covering the town. In fact, there was so much snow when they woke up that morning that Carson dropped them at the academy, a request fulfilled after Robert told Sybil he wouldn't allow Tom to drive her in this weather. It was accepted by Sybil and Tom, but when Carson came to pick them up after school, Sybil insisted he drop them off at the local cafe in the village instead of bringing them all the way to the estate.

"Lady Sybil, I don't think your father would appreciate that. I told him I'd have you home safe."

"It's only a fifteen minute walk from the coffee shop back to Downton," Sybil provided. "Besides, it's not even snowing anymore. And Tom's with me!"

"And what will Mr. Branson do when you fall and break your neck?" Carson asked, looking in the rearview mirror at both teens sitting unnaturally close in the backseat. In seeing this, he grimaced.

"To be honest, Carson, if that happens, she'll probably have pulled me down with her, so…"

This earned Tom a firm swat to his shoulder, one that even with Sybil's mittens and his thick jacket, stung his skin a bit. "Tom!" she hushed. "You're supposed to be on my side here!"

"Alright, Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson. I'll drop you off. But if Lord Grantham has a problem with it—"

"It'll be completely our fault and we would never let him blame you. Oh, thank you, Carson!" Sybil let out with a clap. "Thanks again!" she said, pushing at Tom now as the two scooted out of the back of her family's black SUV.

Once their feet were firmly on the ground and the door was shut behind them, Carson drove off. The two, Tom with his hands shoved in his pockets, and Sybil, with her arms stiff from her thick coat, began walking toward the cafe.

"I don't understand why you couldn't come see me during your study hall," Sybil said, picking up the same conversation they were forced to desert when Carson first pulled up to the school. "We would have had plenty of time."

"I had to finish that paper," Tom said. "Besides, there's always tonight, right?"

"Wrong," Sybil shot back. "I have ballet until ten. You know that…"

"And since when will you be going to bed right after? Come on," Tom pleaded, bringing them to a stop right outside the cafe door. "Come up to my room, alright?" he whispered. "Or I can come to your room and help you shower…"

Sybil raised an eyebrow as if to agree that yes, she rather liked that idea. "Fine."

Behind them, the door to the cafe opened, pulling both Tom and Sybil out of their reverie. "We'll talk about this later, alright? I'm not arguing. Or trying to start an argument. That's not what this is about...it's just been awhile," Sybil said, as she now stepped forward, into the cafe as Tom held open the door for her.

"Three days," he murmured.

"Yes," Sybil agreed, a pout on her face. "Three days too long for you and your teenage libido. I get it…" Sybil said with a laugh.

Tom must not have found the line funny, because he reached for his best friend, causing her petite frame to come spinning back into him. "What?" he whispered, his voice husky and full of want. "You don't miss it either?"

Slowly a smirk played its way across Sybil's face. "I never said that." Then, she pushed Tom away, still smiling as she walked to get in line to order, knowing full well that he'd follow.

"What are you getting?" Sybil asked, her grey eyes scanning the blackboard menu hanging behind the counter. "Let me order it. She always assumes you're paying and it's rude."

"Yeah, um, you're not paying for my drink."

"Tom!" Sybil whined. "You've paid for me the past couple of times we've come here. And this is my money," she emphasized, knowing the real reason he didn't want her to pay: that being that he suspected the money she had was given to her by her mother or father.

"Let's go dutch then. You pay for you and I'll pay for me."

"What if I want to split a cookie again?" Tom furrowed his brows and looked away, still smirking. He had long ago accepted that beyond loving Sybil, he'd forever be very amused by her. "Do you want to split a cookie?" she asked, her shoulders slumping as if finding her own question pointless. She knew he did; that's why she didn't ask.

"Sure," Tom nodded. "I'll get it."

"UGHHHH!" Sybil stomped. "You're infuriating."

Suddenly though, Tom softened, and the smirk he wore disappeared and was replaced by an action that melted Sybil in a different way. Slowly, though not due to hesitation, he casually moved to wrap his arm around Sybil, placing his hand in the back pocket of her jeans furthest away from him. She looked down to it, then back up, her eyes catching on Jonathan Ashford and several of his friends who had walked in the door with him.

Quickly, she turned to Tom, the waves of her hair that seemed to grow out of the knit cap she wore slapping against her coat. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?" Tom asked innocently.

"Tom, this is so stupid."

"Syb," he shot back before sighing, "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Yeah," Sybil rolled her eyes. "You've said that before." She went to turn around and forget about it all, even the way Tom's hand had begun to curve over her backside, but then she stiffened again. "You know, why does it matter?"

"It's rude. Disgusting," Tom mumbled; this was his offense and not hers. "He looks at you like you're an object."

"Yeah, so do my dance teachers."

Tom slumped. "I'm serious, Syb. Doesn't it bother you?"

"No, because he's a dumb boy, alright?"

Behind them, Jonathan and his two friends, boys Sybil and Tom had Calculus with, stepped into line behind them. "Hi, Sybil," it came, causing both Tom and Sybil to look away from one another and toward the voice.

Sybil forced a smile. "Hi, Jonathan…" As she went to move, she reached behind her, pushing at Tom's hand to pull it out of her back pocket.

"My birthday's coming up…"

"Yup," Sybil said, continuing to smile. "I'll be there."

"You're invited too, Tom," Jonathan tried, finally including the boy standing next to Sybil.

"Uh, yeah I have plans. Thanks though."

In hearing this, Sybil whipped her head around to stare at him. Her mouth dropped open in shock, but when she heard Jonathan and his friends scoff behind her, she turned to them and did all she could: she smiled.

Together, they all moved up in line.

"Sybil, we have that group project in English due at the end of the month. Have you thought of which books you want to use for the debate?"

"No," Sybil tried, still smiling. She hadn't either. After ballet, Tom was the only thing she ever really thought of. Him and how she was going to ever be able to tell her parents that she had sent in an audition tape to Juilliard and was checking the mail everyday now to see if she had been accepted.

"Sorry," she continued. "I've been a bit busy."

"We were thinking of juxtaposing MacBeth, Jane Eyre, and Janie from that other book and showing how pride and the individuals wants worked to not only propel the plot of the book forward but also to bolster the overall theme and motifs."

Sybil could only nod. "Sure. Sounds great."

"And you're free during second period, right? We want to get our notes together then."

"Yeah, that works," Sybil said. "I'll be more prepared by then," she tried, laughing a bit, watching as the boys followed her suit. Tom, who was paying for their drinks, wondered if he wasn't so stunning and if her smile wasn't so contagious and her heart so kind, if the boys would laugh in the way they did. But that was what attracted him to her and why should it ever be different for any other boy?

_You're no different than any other boy_, he heard in his head, over and over again.

"Here," Tom said, nudging Sybil, his elbow bent, carrying both his drink and her own. Beneath his fingers around his own cup, a paper bag, and in it, their cookie.

Sybil looked to Tom, her eyes wide, and for the first time since they walked in the door, a genuine smile took its time spreading across her face. She should have been mad. He didn't listen, Sybil thought — he never did. And the terrifying part was that for all the words she ever gave to Tom, some in happiness and others in anger, he always managed to hear exactly what she intended.

"Thanks," her mouth whispered. She then turned back to the boys, and flashed them another smile, one that completely diminished all she had just given to Tom. It didn't seem to matter though. With a simple wave, she was walking away from Jonathan and his friends, following closely behind Tom as he lead them to a table in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is yummy," Sybil commented. "What is it?"

"That mint chai latte you're always too scared to try."

"Yummmm," Sybil hummed, breathing in the steam from her beverage. Together, they sat down. "Michael and Sean are nice," she said, wishing to fill the silence.

Tom looked up from the paper bag he was currently reaching into, retrieving from within it the cookie he ordered for Sybil and him to share. It was oatmeal raisin, just like the one's his mother used to make, only those sometimes had white chocolate chips in them, like little surprises to go well with their hot cocoa on snowy days like this one.

"Yeah, they are."

Sybil smirked. "Sean's brother is the one Edith used to date when she was our age."

Tom bit into the cookie. "I know."

Sybil slumped. "What is the attitude, Tom? What did I do now?"

"Nothing!" he offered with a laugh. "I'm just thinking of all the work I have to do when we get home."

"Working on your car isn't work…"

Tom looked to his best friend, his expression altogether unchanging, but asking for more from her all the same. "I can't have a hobby?"

"No, you can. But you rush through your schoolwork to go freeze your ass off in the garage—"

"Actually, the pellet stove your dad got me keeps me pretty warm."

Sybil pouted her lips and Tom laughed, swallowing another piece of cookie. "Just say it, Syb."

She looked up "Say what?" she tried innocuously.

"It scares you that I don't want to go to uni."

"Well doesn't it scare you?"

"No."

"Tom, I believe in you more than anyone else in this world. I know how brilliant you are and hardworking and I have no doubt you can make something of yourself in the world of journalism but—"

"But what if Hunter doesn't call?"

"It's not even about Hunter, okay? I just know how this world works! The people that deserve the most, get the least!"

"And what about you, Syb? What if you don't get into Juilliard? What are you going to do then? Will you go to Cambridge to please your parents?"

"Yes, Tom! Yes, I probably will, alright? I'm not strong like you! I don't have options!"

"I have options?" Tom shouted. "Me? I go to school everyday with these kids that think I'm a freak. All because not only am I not from here but because I grew up poor and now my mum is dead. I live with you. Most of them think we're friends because you feel sorry for me. I am working for my future alone!"

"Oh, bite your tongue, Tom Branson! You are not alone, alright? You are not alone now and you have never been alone. Fuck what they think, okay? This isn't about them, it's about you and me. You have options. You have free will. I have—"

"You have those same exact things, Sybil! You just need to be brave and utilize them! And if you don't get into Juilliard, I mean, god forbid, I will help you figure something out but I think you'd be dumb to go to Cambridge. Life's too short to live for anyone but yourself, okay?"

Sybil dropped her head down into her hands. Was she crying? It was Tom's first thought and he hoped to god that wasn't the case. The last time he made her cry, they were six, and her hair was much curlier than it was now. Since then, stress of her years and ballet weighed her down.

"Syb?"

"What?" she whispered, finally dropping her hands. He had his answer: she wasn't crying. But her face was red, and her eyes looked as if they were glossed over. It was close, and now Tom was hesitant to talk at all, wondering what it was that set her off in the first place and if there were even words to remedy it.

"Listen, I'm sorry…"

"No," Sybil deflected. "You're right, okay? You're right and that's what sucks."

"Well fuck what I say too then! I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Yes...yes, you do."

"You're going to get into Juilliard," Tom managed quickly, hoping to mollify her.

Sybil was still looking down but she allowed a small smirk to coat her lips. "And Hunter's going to call. I know he is."

Tom smiled. His espresso drink was now gone and he wished that weren't the case so he could distract his lips from their current thoughts; that of leaning across the table, fisting his hand in Sybil's hair as he kissed her right on the mouth. Instead, he looked away.

They finished their drinks. Their empty cups sat on the table, acting as bookends to the flat paper bag which held only crumbs now, those of which Sybil tapped at with a wet finger and pressed to her lips to taste. When their conversation naturally died down, they both stood and headed for the door. Tom pressed a hand to Sybil's back, and this time, she didn't react the way she originally had. It was less forced than before, and not once did her mind even consider that perhaps he was doing it to once again protect her from Jonathan.

As they left the village square, Sybil held her hands tightly fisted in her pockets, jumping over puddles, causing the heels of her boots to click back down onto the wet pavement below. "Want to cut through the park?"

Tom arched an eyebrow. "What for?"

"To play in the snow," Sybil said simply. But then: "We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No," Tom smiled. "Let's go."

The two began to veer, knowing that walking through the park would take them around to the backside of Downton, where they'd enter near the stables and the garage rather than the front door. Neither seemed to mind, and as soon as they made it past the rod iron fence, both continued much in the way Sybil had on Main Street, with Tom throwing the first pack of snow clear to the back of Sybil's jacket, coating the wool with a light dusting of moisture.

"Ahh!" Sybil let out, twirling around to face him. "What was that for?"

Tom laughed, but as he saw Sybil's eyes widen he began to run, sure that she was ready to retaliate.

"Tom Branson!" Sybil called out. "You get back here! That's not fair!"

"C'mon, Syb. Surely those chicken legs of your can catch up…"

They didn't, but the threat was enough for Sybil to toss a snowball of her own at the back of Tom's head. Thankfully, he was wearing both a scarf and a knit cap, both of which kept the melted snow from creeping down his neck. Still, he winced, and in doing so, slowed down, allowing for Sybil to come up behind him and wrap her arms around his frame, causing them both to fall down into a soft layer of snow.

"Ooohf!" Tom sounded, his body hitting the ground with her directly on top of him. But she smiled and he had no other option but to give her the same thing in return, even with the snow now touching his back where his coat had begun to hike up.

"Hi," Sybil smiled.

"Hi," Tom mumbled back. Slowly, he leaned in, and even with his gloves, cupped her cheek, angling her mouth toward his so the two could share a sizzling kiss.

It was all they needed; it was practically what Sybil had asked for when she began nagging Tom about not coming to see her during his study hall that same morning. It seemed natural now, and they often found themselves kissing like lovers, but even so, beneath it all, both Sybil and Tom knew their kisses were laden with a certain craving neither could quite pinpoint.

Though brief, it left them both satisfied, and Sybil rolled over, landing on her back beside Tom, both of them just an arm's length away now.

Against the snow, Tom rolled his head, looking toward his best friend who now moved against the ground. "What are you doing?" he laughed.

"Making a snow angel! I haven't done this in ages…"

Tom chuckled again. He didn't need her to urge him to join her. Already his extended limbs were moving around his body, pushing the snow into mounds, outlining his snow angel's form.

"Sybil?"

The voice was familiar, and even with the sun blocking them from seeing clearly, both Sybil and Tom could tell Mary stood in front of them, holding hands, of course, with Matthew. Both of them were bundled up, and behind them, Max appeared, pushing past his parents to gaze at the teenagers spread out on the cold ground, elated smiles spread across their faces.

"What's going on?" the boy asked, looking up at his parents with squinted eyes.

"Snow angels," Sybil stated. She wished to ask him to join them, but she wasn't sure what their plans were. Mary was often particular about the way she wanted Max to present himself to the world. Constantly, she'd fix his hair or remind him to tie his shoelaces. She allowed him to be a boy, just so as long as the person he was in public was every bit representative of what Matthew and her needed him to be. Thankfully, Max was naturally intelligent and highly polite. Beyond his sometimes messy hair or creased slacks, he was their son without ever really trying.

"Alright," Mary sighed. She walked to the space beside Sybil and turned around. Max watched her and smiled, his eyelids now shaded by the hand he kept pressed above his brow.

"Mum?"

"I used to be so good at making snow angels, Max," Mary said, her signature smile curving her lips upward. "Watch and learn."

Matthew chuckled and watched as his wife fell backward. He knew she didn't gracefully sit in the way her adult mind told her to; to do so would be to create patches in the snow, disturbing the possibility of an otherwise perfect angel.

"Are you going to come join me?" Mary hollered, her voice light as she pleaded.

Quickly, Max scurried toward the space next to his mother and Matthew followed. Both of them fell backward just as she had done, making sure all the while that there was plenty of space between them to spread their arms and legs, essentially creating wings in the snow.

"We've made a grave mistake," Tom finally said, causing them all to laugh.

Mary looked to her adoptive brother and nodded. "Tom's right," she said to the sky. "Who's going to help us up? At least one of us is going to ruin our angel…"

"We could just wait here for backup," Sybil offered, slightly seriously as she felt Tom's hand still holding hers, an act that occurred rather naturally after Max and Matthew walked away.

"Sybil, honey, I waited eighteen years in this town for so called backup...it's not coming."

Matthew and Tom chuckled but Sybil didn't seem to get the joke. She at least found comfort in the fact that such a statement was too far over Max's head and he was incapable of understanding altogether.

Ironically enough, just as Matthew was about to stand up and help the others, Robert and Cora walked upon the group, expressions of confusion and slight disgust gracing their faces.

"Mary?"

"Hi Papa!" she beamed. "What brings you into the park?"

Robert blinked and shifted, readjusting the grip he had on his wife. "We were coming to make sure Sybil and Tom were alright. They were supposed to be home nearly an hour ago…"

"Sorry," Sybil let out. "We got distracted. Don't blame Carson!" she offered quickly.

"Oh, I don't," Robert assured.

"Are you ready to go?" Cora asked. "I had Mrs. Patmore prepare you a salad to eat before you head to the studio. Carson will drive you over as soon as you're done."

"Okay," Sybil accepted. "But I still need help up."

"Robert?" Cora nudged. Her husband sighed and walked to where his daughter laid on the ground.

"Go slow!" Sybil insisted. "I don't want to mess up the angel."

"Sybil, it's snow...it's not going to be there forever."

"Well, you're in a sour mood!"

Another sigh, and Robert's hand wrapped around Sybil's, pulling his youngest daughter up onto her feet. From his position still laying on his back, Tom watched as she leaped forward, avoiding her father and avoiding bringing any destruction to her snow angel. He was next, and when he finally stood, he looked at the empty spaces they had just laid in, pushing at the earth, their bodies creating pictures in the snow, pictures that just as Robert said, would soon disappear.

As they walked home, Sybil turned to Mary, and asked her what she and the rest of her family were doing in Downton.

"Well," Mary said sweetly, "The snow in London was gone by the time Max got out of school so I told him we could come here to play for a bit. Downton got much more than we did."

"Define 'play'..." Sybil said.

Mary smirked. "We went sledding down the back hill near the stables. We used one of those old saucers. The metal ones that Papa had from when he was a boy."

"Those always picked up the best speed!" Sybil said, as if to disagree.

"You know what? I'm sure they did but I don't even remember riding them…"

"What?" Sybil gawked. "Tom!" she called, causing her best friend to stop walking with Matthew and Max and to turn out to her and her eldest sister. "Do you remember those silver saucers we used to ride down the hills by the stables?"

"Uh, yeah," Tom chuckled. "If you hit a slope at the right angle, you'd go flying on those things."

"Yes, well, Max quickly discovered that today," Mary chuckled.

"Did you ride one?"

"Matthew wanted me to take a ride with him but I was sure we'd break something."

"That's how Sybil broke her wrist, remember?" Tom said, cheerily.

Mary watched as Sybil and Tom shared a smile, clearly remembering the moment. She wanted to scold them and tell them not to share the story with Max, as he was impressionable and would surely find the experience to be one worthy of replication.

"It's supposed to snow even harder next week," Sybil stated casually. "Tom and I could watch Max if you and Matthew wanted to go sledding."

"I'm an adult, Sybil. I'm a mother. I have a job and a home. We can't just go sledding."

Tom chuckled. "Why not? You did just make a snow angel."

"You encouraged your child to join you too…" Sybil said, her voice singing as if to tease her sister, knowing the pressure would cause her to realize how silly she was being.

"We'll see," Mary finally said before pursing her lips. "Maybe."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


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